


Summer Break

by Lispet



Category: The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Feels, Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lispet/pseuds/Lispet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as long as Steve could remember, Tony Stark had been coming to the farm each year for three months. Each year Steve saw him, Steve could swear that Tony grew at least two or three inches a year. In addition to that, Tony quickly filled out, and by the time Steve was seventeen (Tony was nineteen), Tony was 5’10” and was probably 90% muscle, seeing as he most likely played some variety of sport when he wasn’t at the farm (it was foolish for Steve to think that Tony had a life outside of his summers—but he didn't know that). Steve on the other hand, topped 5’5” on a good day, and hadn’t gained a pound since he was ten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Later, it does get a little confusing with the ‘Steve’ and ‘Steven’ bit, but I promise they’re the same guy, and to make it easier, here’s how I did it. If it’s coming from Tony’s POV, then it’s Steven, because that’s what Tony thinks. If the sentence if purely Steve, then it’s Steve thinking, and therefore the name is Steve.   
> E.g.; Tony placed his hands on Steven’s waist. (lolol foreshadowing)  
> Steve picked up the bale of hay.
> 
> Also on my Tumblr; http://lispetwriting.tumblr.com/post/30620499869/stony-farm-au-part-1-2
> 
> Ahaha Look I exist here now. Oh this is so exciting!

“When will you learn that hiding will not take your chores away?” Natasha hung down from a stack of hay bales to stare Tony in the eye (upside down) sternly.  
“But they will go away.” Tony winked. “They always have before.”  
“Not today.” Natasha vanished, and then dropped onto Tony’s shoulders, her heels tapping at Tony’s chest. “Move.” She wound her fingers in his hair so as not to get dislodged when he started walking, albeit a little wobbly.  
She used a rudimentary guiding system on Tony, pulling at his hair rather harshly when he tried to steer himself away from his chores, and eventually Natasha had him outside, at the back of the barn, where a skinny boy who couldn’t possibly be more than fourteen years old, was struggling with half a bale of hay whilst trying to keep two calves from head-butting him.  
Natasha slid off Tony’s shoulders and shoved him towards the hay that the kid was struggling with. “Chores, asshole.”  
Tony nearly stumbled over one of the calves, but he was caught by the kid. Okay, he wasn’t. The kid tried to catch him, but wasn’t big enough to support Tony’s weight and they slipped over, landing in the mud. Tony scrambled to his feet, already wiping dirt from his clothes, but the boy just sighed and sat up, a calf pushing at his knee with its nose. The kid reached out, rubbed his knuckles along the bone above the beast’s eye, and pushed himself to his feet. He looked up to apologise to Tony, but froze with a jolt, and frowned slightly, just a small pinch between his brows. “Sorry.” He said quickly before turning back to the hay. He managed to heave it up onto the back of the Ute—after Tony stepped forwards to help him. He thanked Tony, his voice and manner somewhat stiff, before getting into the driver’s seat.  
“Hey,” Tony slid into the passenger’s seat. “Can you actually reach the pedals, shorty?” The teen’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, but he made no other move that he recognised that Tony had spoken. “You know, if we’re going anywhere, we have to turn the car on, Steve.”  
Steve locked his jaw to stop himself replying sharply, and instead reached for the keys in the ignition. “Thank you.” He finally ground out.  
“Hey, I was just going on the principle that I’m the genius, and you’re the farm hand.”  
Steve crunched the Ute into gear and drove off to the next field to give himself a solid reason to ignore Tony.

On that farm, not much got past Steve, except perhaps the cows who just pushed him aside to get to the next field over, or to the truck full of hay. That really came with being part of being the grandson of the owner of the farm.  
He could only watch with helpless, and well hidden jealousy when Tony flirted with everyone else on the farm, from the quiet boy, Bruce, who spent a lot of time in the hay loft tinkering with the broken tractor circuitry, right through to Natasha. That particular escapade didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, for once word got out that Tony was going to ‘talk’ to Natasha, everyone, including Steve’s dear grandmother, Eloise, staged themselves in such a vantage point so they could watch the whole thing unfurl.  
Natasha was… notorious.  
It went down something like this;  
Tony sauntered up to Natasha, who was carrying a full bucket of fresh milk in each hand, with an easy grin and a cheery “hey there, gorgeous”, Natasha had put the buckets on the ground and raised an eyebrow, as if contradicting his words. A few more words were said and Tony reached out to perhaps tuck some hair behind her ear, and Natasha had grabbed his arm and Tony was face first in the mud before anyone could realise what had happened. Steve couldn’t help but feel a little smug to see Tony eating dirt for a change.

Every summer, or it was supposed to be summer, (if you took the state of the ground around the barn in as an indicator, then it was never summer, as ankle deep mud seemed to be as easy as the well-trodden soil came to trek across. Although the sun was out every day and it only rained once in a blue moon), the farm was opened as a sort of holiday resort, if resorts normally came with grubby chores.  
One such person who never failed to show up over the summer was one; Anthony Stark.  
Stark would be dropped off at the gate from a shiny silver car each time with a duffle bag of supplies and other oddities that he refused to show anyone. The oddity about his arrival and departure for that matter, was that at the start of summer, the first day that the farm was open to the public, Tony was dropped off, and he was picked up the day the farm closed, often after dinner time.  
For the first few days of his stay, sometimes up to a week, Tony would lock himself up in the feed room in the barn and refuse point blank to leave in a surly grumble. Eventually he would emerge looking somewhat dishevelled and rather exhausted, usually with more than one cut on his hands somewhere, occasionally a burn or two, and he would go and find an empty bedroom to use for the holidays, dump all of his things in there and wash up, before eating enough for three at the next meal and then behaving like a normal human being for the rest of his stay.  
On the odd occasion, okay, at least once a week, Tony would start working on something and forget about everything else and enter what everyone else jokingly dubbed ‘zombie mode’, where he would work on something for more than twenty four hours straight. If you were to talk to him, you might get a grunt in reply, if you bought him coffee, he would either drink it straight away, regardless of how hot it was, or it would be left on the bench until it was stone cold and then he would gulp down his precious caffeine.  
At least the tractor got fixed on time. 

Steve, the grandson of the farm’s owners, wasn’t exactly helpful, but he tried to pull his own weight. Not difficult seeing as at tops, he would weigh perhaps forty kilos. They got bags of grain that weighed more than he did.  
For as long as Steve could remember, Tony Stark had been coming to the farm each year for three months. Each year Steve saw him, Steve could swear that Tony grew at least two or three inches a year. In addition to that, Tony quickly filled out, and by the time Steve was seventeen (Tony was nineteen), Tony was 5’10” and was probably 90% muscle, seeing as he most likely played some variety of sport when he wasn’t at the farm (it was foolish for Steve to think that Tony had a life outside of his summers—but he didn’t know that). Steve on the other hand, topped 5’5” on a good day, and hadn’t gained a pound since he was ten.  
Whilst Tony seemed to have a nice relationship with the machinery on the farm—he taught himself to drive the harvester when he was six—Steve only seemed to be able to communicate with the Ute, and the farm’s old motorbike that broke down every other day. Each time, he would have to endure Tony’s teasing jabs and persist until Tony would fix whatever it was. Each time afterwards, Tony swore that he would completely rework the bike eventually. At that point, Steve would usually wheel his precious bike away at as rapid-a-pace as he could.  
Knowing Tony and his notorious track record of making Steve’s summer as miserable as possible, Steve would never get his bike back.  
On the other hand, there was exactly one living thing on the farm that could truly tolerate Tony that didn’t have to, or didn’t feel obliged to. Oddly enough, it was Steve. It could be said in the same breath however, that everyone liked Steve for one reason or another. He was always hard working, at least until his asthma and hay fever caught up with him at about morning tea time, and even then he would continue working until his daily chores were done—and usually wouldn’t return to the farmhouse until well after dark. The animals adored him—the cows especially. After all, it was Steve who never failed to come out at six in the morning, quite often without eating for himself first, to feed them. The horses too, were fond of Steve to the point of being quite protective of him—the one time Tony had gone with Steve on the motorbike to feed the horses, Tony had vanished along with the bike, leaving Steve stranded in the back field. One of the ponies refused to let him leave until he was settled on the stocky little thing’s rugged back, and then the dear little creature had neatly trotted Steve all the way back to the fence near the farm house. Steve was more than a little speechless.  
The one exception to this rule of ‘everyone love Steve because he’s such a nice guy’ seemed to be Tony.  
Which was disappointing because the only one Steve wanted to be liked by was indeed, Tony.

In his spare time, when he got any, Steve would spend it up in the hay loft, precariously balanced on the edge of the upper floor’s door, his legs handing out over the six or so meter drop, with a sketch book and charcoal stick, drawing. As the years progressed, his knack for art also progressed, to the point that merely sticking to what he could see from the barn became pointless and mundane.  
So he settled for what he could see in his mind; wide calloused hands, the ripple of muscle across a tanned shoulder, in a way he would never tan (it had nothing to do with him being in the sun or not, this skin was just a particular shade of olive that would fit in perfectly in the Mediterranean, not in the North Eastern reaches of Tennessee. Or wherever the owner of this tanned skin came from), sometimes a cocky grin, or a teasing eye that stared out from the page at him until he tore the paper out and threw it away.  
Slowly, the pieces began to slide together across his page, and before he even realised what, or who he was drawing, there was an angry, thick line across his page that snapped his charcoal in half.  
He didn’t really trust himself to draw from his imagination after that, but he did anyway.

To Steve, the farm was everything. He had never known another life, or what it would be like outside the widespread countryside and the nearby town. He had been to Nashville a grand total of two times. He attended the school in town, and was yet to decide what he wanted to do after he finished senior year. He was quite fond of the farm, and after a while, he kind of assumed that he would be the owner after his grandmother retired. And truthfully, he could see himself running a farm when he was older. Certainly, he would never be broad shouldered and strong, but he was clever, and knew the value of things, so with the right push, he could easily manage a farm.  
Not to mention he didn’t really know how he would survive in a city.  
The farm really did mean so much to him that he could be rather stupid when certain events arose.  
It was a habit of Steve’s to take note of any change in the farm, especially the outside fence. If there was a break in it, then sheep or cows could escape, which really wasn’t in the best interests for the animal’s health, or for the farm’s profits. If there was a gap in the fence, Steve would stop the bike, pat his pockets for the set of pliers that he carried everywhere, and would twist the wire back together as a temporary fix until he could make it more permanent.  
However when he saw an unfamiliar truck parked in the far field one night—the one that happened to be housing the heifers!—he didn’t pause to think that he was 5’5” and 100lbs, and that if there were people stealing the cows that he so tenderly cared for that he wouldn’t be able to stop them, at least not alone. He just shouted something that would hopefully cause something to follow him—a dog immediately on the back of his bike—and he gunned down the dirt track to the back paddock.  
He tore through the centre of the herd, cutting them off from the truck where they were being driven, and he barked a quick command to the dog on the back of the bike, who leapt off to hold the ground against the cattle, and stopped, leaping off the bike himself to shout at the people stealing his cows.  
“What are you doing?” He ran over and reached to grab the stock whip that the nearest man was carrying, but the man made his horse dance away, and Steve had to skip back to avoid getting trampled.  
“Fuck off kid.” The whip was flailed in Steve’s direction and he flinched, but held his ground before running forwards to the lead heifer and grabbing her stubby horns, trying to wrench her away from the truck.  
“These aren’t your cows!” Steve shouted when the cow tossed her head, throwing him into the dust. He managed to roll out of the way before he again, got run over by hooves. He didn’t want to experience firsthand what a cloven hoof to the chest would feel like. Unshod horses treading on his feet occasionally hurt quite enough, thank you.  
The man on the horse pulled up next to Steve. “Kid, didn’t I tell you to fuck off?”  
Steve snarled and pushed himself to his feet, letting out a sharp whistle to his dog as he did so. “I’m not a kid!” He waved his arms violently and the horse whinnied when he nearly hit its muzzle, its eyes rolling back in its head in terror. He saw what his action had done, and whilst he detested frightening animals, realised his best option for stopping this. He whistled to his dog again and made a gesture with his arm and the dog circled around the horse.  
Steve stepped forward, stomping is foot into the dust and raised his hand as if to hit the horse and the poor animal squealed again, rearing up high, pawing at the air with its hooves. The rider dug his spurs into the horse’s bony belly, and reefed on the horse’s foaming mouth. Spots of red started seeping into the white foam.  
If Steve was angry before, that was nothing compared to how he felt now. This horse was so mistreated that even one pull on the reins caused it to bleed, so terrified of humans that it thought that he was going to hit it. He was about to frighten the horse again, but something blunt hit the back of his head, and he collapsed, not quite knocked out, but helpless to watch as more than half of the heifers were loaded onto the truck, and driven away through the hole in the fence.  
His fingers clenched into the sparse, tufty grass and he closed his eyes against the tears.  
The next thing he was aware of was lying in something soft—a bed he quickly realised—and that vague sense that someone was watching him.  
“You know, Cap, you’re an odd person.”  
Steve turned his head and was unsurprised to see Tony sitting by the bedside table—his bedside table… why was he in Tony’s bed?—as ‘Captain’ was perhaps the only semi-positive nickname that Tony had bestowed upon him, for reasons unknown. Probably because Natasha had jokingly told Tony that Steve was like the chief for the animals when Tony had asked her why there was a line of ducks following Steve across the yard.  
Tony drank something from a glass, and leant forward, elbows on his knees.  
“What the hell were you thinking?” Tony bit out, his fingers tight around his glass. He set it down before it shattered and he lost his precious drink—whatever it was.  
“Now? Or earlier?” Steve looked back at the ceiling. His head hurt. Like, a lot. “Now, that my head is killing me, earlier that…” He paused, filtering through a throbbing head and anger blurred memories. “They stole my heifers!” He wailed, disregarding his headache.  
“Deep breaths, Captain.” Tony picked his glass up and drained it, before reaching for a bottle that was on the floor. He refilled his glass. Steve squinted at the unlabelled, dark glass bottle. “Want some?” Tony offered the bottle to Steve, the liquid inside sloshing around in response to the violent, jerky movement. “’S moonshine. I think.” He chuckled, and Steve cautiously took the bottle. “It’s alright,” For a moment, Steve thought Tony was talking about the bottle of moonshine, which didn’t taste alright—it burnt the back of his throat and made his stomach churn—but he wasn’t. “I got the number plate of the truck. I promise you’ll be compensated for the farm’s loss.”  
Steve coughed when the moonshine trickled down his throat. “What is this?” Steve handed the bottle back.  
“Moonshine.” Tony drank more of the slightly cloudy liquid from his glass. “Homemade whisky.”  
Steve spluttered. “But we’re underage!”  
“So?” Tony shrugged. “We all need a drink on the occasion.”  
Steve held his hand out for the bottle, and Tony gave it to him, but he didn’t drink. “How much have you had?” Steve asked dubiously.  
“How empty is the bottle?” Tony asked, grinning lopsidedly.  
“No more for you.” Steve sat up and moved to get out of the bed.  
“Hey, you got knocked out.” Tony put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and easily pushed him back down. “You’re staying until morning, and then take tomorrow off. I’ve got your chores covered.” Steve swore he felt his heart stutter. Since when was Tony nice to him? And it was wonderful, but it was seriously freaking him out right now, and Tony was listening to him because Tony wasn’t trying to get the alcohol back off him.  
This was all too perfect.  
“Just don’t do anything like that again, alright?” Tony stood, leant over and pressed a short kiss to Steve’s forehead before almost running from the room.

The next day, Tony was gone, as were all his things. Oddly enough, so were Steve’s chores.

The next year, Tony arrived at the farm as per normal, but took a moment before he locked himself away in the storage room in the barn. After nine months, how much had changed? Okay, maybe he was hoping to see Steve, and not to tease him. Truthfully, Tony was only like that because he enjoyed pushing people’s buttons, and seeing as flirting with Steve wouldn’t work at all, after all, Steve was the all-American good guy minus the bulk who was at the very least 150% straight as opposed to Bruce who fixed all the faulty wiring in the machinery as quickly as Tony could, and who made up the massive batches of fertiliser and the pesticides, who was only about 78% straight. Tony had a vague feeling that he himself was less than 50% straight, which threw him somewhere in the bi-pan-Omni-sexual category. He hadn’t chosen one yet, however after the identity crisis considering his family name, he decided that he didn’t like labels for himself.  
So he teased Steve because he liked to be noticed, and Steve always seemed to be so stuck in his chores and his allergies to take notice of Tony. And Steve made it so easy to tease him, because he was small and weak and he was rather sensitive about both of those things, and he cared about everyone, and that made getting under his skin so much easier.  
But really, he liked Steve because he was so nice, even when Tony was a jerk to him. Perhaps this year he could set things straight. He had matured a lot lately, or so Pepper said, so maybe he could become friends with Steve, as the whole Steve is at least 150% straight cut out anything that Tony would normally go for.  
But… there was no Steve. Curious.  
He decided to skip his moonshine making days (he maybe left a little bit, only five or six bottles, from last year), and instead surprised Eloise who was in the kitchen coring apples, by claiming his room straight away.  
He neatly unpacked, hung around the kitchen to charm the socks off Eloise—little old ladies were his specialty—and then went outside to search for Steve. Okay, it wouldn’t be obvious that that was what he was up to, but he would keep an eye out, besides, there seemed to be a new milk maid. He sauntered over to the girl with shoulder length red hair. “Hey there, haven’t seen you around before.”  
The girl turned, seemed somewhat hopeful, and then sighed. “Oh, it’s just you. Shall I reacquaint you with the dirt today?”  
“Just my luck. No, I’ll live.”  
It was just Natasha, who had decided to cut her hair short. A little disappointing.  
“How’s Clint then?” Tony waggled his eyebrows, and yelped when a bullet, a motherfucking BULLET thudded into the ground next to his toe. “Holy shit!” Clint had always been a bit odd like that.  
“He’s fine.” Natasha smiled, and anything that made Natasha smile was just probably a little ILLEGAL and walked off.  
“Right then.” He turned to the next milk maid over with a broad smile. Good old fashioned farms. “How have you been, Peggy? You’re just as pretty as normal.”  
“It’s Anthony, right?”  
“I prefer Tony, but I thought you’d never remember, gorgeous.”  
She smiled at him disarmingly. “Please put your right foot forwards.” Tony shrugged and did as she said. Quickest way into a girl’s pants, or skirt as it may be. Her fist whipped forwards, pain blossomed across his cheek bone, and he stumbled backwards. “Take a guess.”  
Tony straightened up. Yup, Peggy was fine. “That’s great, how about everyone else then?” She spent a lot of time with Steve, so she could perhaps tell him where Steve was. He’d have to be subtle though. Her right hook had really gotten good.  
“They’re fine. Bruce went to college this year in Nashville, Jane found herself a boyfriend, and he’s just freaky, but I’ve never seen anyone hold their liquor like that guy, and we never see the boyfriend’s brother. He does all his chores at night and sleeps through the day, Bucky decided to join the army oh, and Tasha and Clint are officially dating.” The last part was said in a whisper, as if it would keep the gossip between Tony and Peggy, but really, it was Natasha and Clint they were talking about.  
“That’s it?” Tony tried to keep his voice level and vaguely curious, “What about Steve then? He’s noticeably absent.”  
Peggy half-heartedly flapped her hand. “He’s around.” She seemed to get somewhat distracted by the person behind Tony then, and smiled brightly. “Took your time!”  
“Sorry.” Tony whirled when the guy spoke. “The truck got bogged in the back field and I had to dig it out.”  
Tony felt not as intelligent as he normally did when he saw the man standing before him. Okay, at least 6’, broad shoulders, a thick mop of sunshine golden hair that was neatly combed back out of the guy’s eyes, which, Tony noted, were pure blue, not some murky mix of blue and green, or grey. They were the actual colour of pure blue. As in computer code; #0000FF. Too perfect. People like this don’t exist.  
Tony held out his hand to shake. Getting in with this guy would be well worth it. But he still had to find Steve and set things straight. “Hey, you didn’t see where the Cute Nerdy Guy went, did you?”  
The new worker raised an eyebrow and dropped the two bales of hay that he had been carrying. One landed on Tony’s foot. “Oops, sorry. Not sure who you’re talking about, sorry again.” The blonde took Tony’s hand in a firm grip, and shook. “I’m Steven.”  
Tony perked up.  
“And I just got here from college.”  
Tony’s shoulders slumped. Steve had never wanted to go to college. He was supposed to be doing senior year last year. It was probably a coincidence. After all, Steve was short and skinny, not all tall and filled out like this guy. Yep, coincidence. The probability of this was actually pretty high, 8% of the US’s population’s names started with ‘S’ alone. Of those, nearly an eighth were called Steven. Yeah, 1% of the male population of America. That’s pretty high. He sighed.  
“Tony. Well, Anthony, but Tony will do.”  
Steven smiled warmly, “Well, I have to get this hay back to the barn, if you’ll excuse me.” Steven bent to pick up both the bales of hay, but Tony beat him to one.  
“I’ll give you a hand.”  
Peggy actually laughed.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Steve.” Peggy hissed over lunch later.  
Steve chuckled. “Of course I do. He doesn’t need to know that I’m me.”  
“Fine, but don’t come crying to me if he breaks your heart.”  
Steve snorted and bit into his sandwich. It wasn’t going to happen.  
Steve had his reasons to pretend that he was new. Mainly because it offered the previously somewhat unusual relationship that he had with Tony earlier a fresh start, and partly because he thought it would be fun to mess with Tony’s head for once.

The new worker, Steven, was far less straight than Steve had been. Tony took a guestimate, too lazy to do the math when he had the best eye candy right there, and decided on a figure of about 80%. Steven flirted way too much to be 100% straight.  
So Tony flirted back, and actually did chores. Hey, Pepper had said that he was almost a different person. Almost being the key word. It wasn’t like he was going to do this if he didn’t get to flirt with Steven at the same time.  
He constantly pushed to see where he could get. If he had a chance, he would go for it. He eventually got his chance.  
“Hey Steven!” He called from the other end of the barn. He refused to call Steven Steve because Steve was a different person, and Tony wouldn’t have trouble separating them in his head, he just didn’t think that a person as flirty and perfect as Steven deserved the same name as the more human Steve.  
Anyway, he had found Steve’s old motorbike. If he was allowed to tinker with it, that would be great, but he’d rather it work right now, because he had a plan.  
“Yeah?” Steve poked his head over a stack of hay that he was shifting to the truck.  
“Does this thing run?” He wheeled the bike out into the open.  
Steve felt a little bit of colour rise in the back of his neck, and quickly pulled the nearest bale and lugged it down into the truck. He could chalk the flush up to his exertions, when it truth it was more him just remembering that one time Tony went to feed the horses with him, and was too scared to watch where they were going, and so had wrapped his strong arms around Steve’s waist, and had buried his face in Steve’s then bony shoulder.  
“Maybe.” He vaulted the rail and landed heavily on the ground, however far below it was. Tony gave a strangled sound in worry. He walked over and took the bike, swinging his leg over it. He leant forwards, painfully aware of Tony’s eyes appraising him silently, to check everything. Ignition, on, fuel tank, on… was there fuel in it? He opened the tank and checked. Okay, enough for today. He flipped the kick-pedal out and tried starting it. “Nah, it hasn’t been ridden in months.” He realised what he said. “Probably, I mean. Who was the last one to ride it?” He amended.  
Tony chuckled. “Most likely me.” When he had run out after Steve’s panicked shout that night, worried out of his mind when he found Steve lying in the middle of the field, unconscious, with a dog growling at the cows to keep them away from Steve’s prone form. He had picked up Steve—no great burden—and had used the motorcycle to get them back home. Steve had felt so nice in his arms, a little warm, all skin and bone, not much to him, but he still stood up for what was right. Because that was who Steve was.  
The All-American good guy, minus the broad shoulders and bulky muscles.  
“’s all right, I’ll just rework it. I’ve been meaning to for years.”  
Steve can’t help but blurt out a sudden; “no!” when he hears this. He’s still attached to this old bike, and spent years protecting it from the possibly dangerous clutches of Tony Stark. “I mean, really, it probably just needs a new spark plug or something.”  
Tony raised an eyebrow.  
“And it’s not really ours, so we shouldn’t be pulling it apart.” Steve finished. He was about to go on and say; “We can feed the horses in the truck, so don’t worry about it.” But caught himself, and instead, said; “What did you want to do with it?”  
“Nothing much. Just a little reminiscing. Horses to feed, nerdy cute guys to tease because they’re stupid and refuse to give up, the normal stuff.”  
“Didn’t realise you swung for the other team,” Steve did some teasing of his own, “But really? Bruce? I wouldn’t exactly describe him as a fluffy little bunny.”  
“Yeah, because you’d know that.” Tony smirked and leant on the handlebars of the bike, stretching to get closer to Steven.  
“Would you be jealous if I did?” Steve asked, leaning close to Tony as well, close enough to feel Tony’s sharp, coffee tainted breaths on his face, but no closer than that.  
Tony felt the urge to lean up and kiss Steven, and he was about to, or he thought he was about to. It kind of felt awkward and a little bit of a betrayal to Steve, who he had really felt like he had a bit, just a little bit of a connection with that last night he was here (and then promptly ran away like a coward—catching a bus into town, and got to Nashville and then home in California from there) and certainly he had been more than a little drunk, he had just been so worried until Steve had woken up that he dipped into his moonshine stocks a little deeper than he had meant to go.  
Back to the nearly kissing the all too perfect sex-symbol in front of him; he was about to (maybe), until someone butted in.  
“Serious case of UST.” Peggy commented loudly.  
“Serious case of suck my dick.” Tony grumbled back. He reached out and grabbed Steven’s collar and yanked him into a rough, quick kiss, more of a mash of lips and teeth because Steve wasn’t expecting it really. “There, nothing’s unresolved between us.”  
“Well,” Peggy threw the gloves she had been returning onto the nearest bench, “I’m certain no one will mind, as long as they don’t walk in on you, and you get your chores done. And no, I’m not giving you my blessing to sexually scar this poor man at the first chance you get. If you do, I get a free shot.”  
“Free shot at what?”  
“Your face.” Steve chuckled, “Possibly with a pitchfork, or an axe if you’re lucky. If not, then her fist, or Clint’s gun.”  
“Wonderful.” Tony groaned. “Now I do believe that Steven and I have sexual tension to break?”  
Peggy rolled her eyes and left, and Tony turned back to Steven. “I was about to shove my hands down your pants, right?” Tony asked, already reaching across Steven’s thigh for the button and fly for his jeans.  
Five or ten minutes later, no one was really keeping count, Steve bit down on his tongue to keep the whimpers in as he came hard in Tony’s hand, and on the cracked leather seat of his old motorbike.

The got a bit of a rhythm going, a system sorted out. Tony seemed to be a little needy when it came to sex—no wonder he was flirting with so many people before—and Steve didn’t mind too much, as long as the chores got done, so they worked around it.  
They’d take feed out to the cows, and the next thing Steve knew, he was leaning against the back wheel of the truck, his knees a little wobbly, with Tony laying in his lap, totally spent, Steve’s hand still wrapped around their cocks.  
They’d move the old hay around to make way for a new delivery, and when that was done, Steve would push Tony into the swept up pile of excess hay that would be used for stable bedding later, and scrape his teeth along Tony’s collarbone, and grind his hips into Tony’s until Tony came with a groan—barely out of his pants—and then Tony would bitch later that it was totally unnecessary, but they should totally do it again.  
Tony did end up pulling the motorbike apart, and tried teaching Steven about the mechanics of it, but all it ended up with was Tony winding his greasy fingers into Steven’s normally carefully groomed hair as Steven went down on him, right in the middle of the barn.  
Honestly, it was sheer luck that no one caught them.

The motorbike did get fixed, and only because Tony went into his all too famous zombie mode for two days straight.  
Steve even managed to make him talk during that time.  
When Tony had to leave that year, there was no formal goodbye really. Steve realised it had to happen and wasn’t too bothered. It was a summer fling and Tony would forget about it by next year, and he could be all like; surprise! I grew muscles and body hair! I even have to shave now! And everything would be back to normal. Tony would be a jerk to him, and Steve would once again assume the mantle of “Tony’s personal chore-doer”.  
Tony did get Steven’s mobile number the night before he left though.

Leading up to the next summer, Steve was only a little bit excited. He would see Tony again, which probably wasn’t a good thing, but really, every time he jerked off these days, it was like he was fourteen again and still head-over-heels for Tony. Which wasn’t helpful.  
It wasn’t helpful because last time Tony was here, Steve gave a lot to him and, (awkward though it sounds), Steve gave Tony his first kiss. Yeah. Awkward.  
Since Tony’s last visit, he hadn’t been able to think really clearly, and gradually he had to lay it out on paper to be able to do his chores properly, and slowly, he filled page after page with his favourite daydream.  
Wide, calloused and greasy hands, a ripple of muscle underneath olive skin, a cocky grin, and a teasing eye that just begged him to reach his fingers under the waistband of his tracksuits and jerk himself off with a breathy moan of a certain name. Not so slowly this time, it all came together, and Steve didn’t try to stop it.  
He just drew.  
He got the occasional text from Tony throughout the year, mostly they seemed random and silly; that took way 2 long, or, Dont watch TV 2nite. Which was silly because Steve didn’t watch the television anyway. He didn’t reply often, it felt that Tony was just texting him for the hell of it, so he only replied if Tony asked him a direct question, or outright said ‘hi’.  
That year, summer took way too long to come around.

That year, Tony was determined to find out what happened to little Steve Rogers. Last year, he had encountered a small distraction in the form of sexy blonde; Steven, but he did want the small runty guy this year, even though he was like, 150% straight, he just wanted one, little kiss because it was Steve Rogers, the All-American good guy who probably hadn’t kissed anyone before, and who was way too cute and perfectly human for his own good.

When Tony arrived, the farm was relatively quiet, but then again, it was always quiet at 0530, because the only person who used to get up then was little Steve Rogers, unable to get much work done unless it was cool and allergen free. So he was hoping… there!  
So he had fixed the motorbike properly. Except for that headlight, which didn’t reach more than ten meters. But that wasn’t stopping Steve…n.  
God damnit!  
“You’re here early.” Steve pulled the motorcycle up next to Tony, and killed the engine.  
“You’re up early.” Tony rebuked. “No one gets up this early!”  
“You did.” Steve commented.  
“No, I didn’t sleep last night. There’s a difference.” He pulled a penlight from his pocket, and a screwdriver came with it. Well, someone had forgotten to unload his pockets after his time in the workshop last night. He reached over and deftly opened the headlight casing to check the wiring. He fiddled a bit, and found a loose wire, and reconnected it. “Try that.”  
Steve started the bike again, and the headlight was much better. “Thanks.”  
“So, where’s my ‘thank-you’ kiss then?” He smirked, and Steven obliged, pecking him on the lips once. Tony raised an eyebrow, expecting more. “And my ‘hello’ kiss.” He insisted.  
This time, he didn’t let Steven get away with a simple peck, he looped his arms around the back of the blonde’s neck and held him there until Steven opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.  
“That’s better, now, I’ll just dump my stuff off in the barn, and we can get chores done.”  
“Since when have you willingly done chores, Tony?”  
“Since a certain sexy blonde started doing sexual favours for me.” He bent to pick up his bag, and tossed something to Steven. “Maybe these might get a use or two before I leave this time.”  
Steve’s face had never gone redder in his life as he beheld the box of condoms.

It was simple for Steve and Tony to keep up whatever it was they were doing, it wasn’t so simple for Steve to stop himself, however, from realising that oh hello there, sorry, I think I’m still in love with you. And that was a big problem. Well, he thought it was a big problem.  
Disregarding that Tony was really, having the same argument in his own head, or less in his own head, and more to his phone, which he had recently (finally) managed to condense his AI back home into his phone. And it was probably not the best idea because now his fucking phone was threatening to call Steven. (because the phone was, in fact, rather clever and had already realised that Steven, sexy, tall and strong Steven, was in fact the very same person as Steve Rogers, aptly described ‘cute, nerdy All-American good guy minus the height and muscles’.) Or at least tell Steven somehow, what was going through Tony’s head.  
Sure, having a personalised assistant who had an awesome English accent had its perks, but then again, creating said personalised assistant with a mind of its own was not too clever.

Tony realising that he maybe perhaps a little bit loved someone was a painful process, and it wasn’t actually Steven that he fell for.  
No, after a little bit of nutting out, and then drinking a bit of his old moonshine, and then some more ramblings towards his ever helpful phone, Tony came to the conclusion that he had fallen for someone who seemed to not exist anymore.  
Steve Rogers.

“What now ca—” Tony caught himself before he called Steven ‘captain’. That was Steve’s nickname, and whilst it might suit Steven more, it wasn’t for him.  
“We’ve just got to empty the new grain bags into the drums.” Steve gestured to the immense pile of full hessian sacks at the other end of the barn.  
“Alright, let’s get this done!” Tony went looking for a knife, and Steven started shifting the bags.  
In this fashion, they filled all of the feed drums fairly quickly, and stacked the remaining full bags back where they were to begin with.  
“That’s it.” Steve said with a huff, throwing the last feed sack onto the pile.  
“You know…” Tony stood behind Steven, placing his hands on Steven’s waist. “All this work has made me a little…” he paused, and pressed his lips to Steven’s shoulder—bare, courtesy of a loose singlet—tasting salt and skin and that just made him more horny, “excited.” He finished in a whisper. He felt muscles clench under his fingers, and Steven was twisting in his hands to kiss him eagerly.  
Tony was backed quickly into the nearest solid surface, already tugging at Steven’s belt. They slipped off the beam, one of about ten (or whatever his brain wasn’t counting fucking ceiling beams for god’s sake) that held the barn’s roof up, and fell on the pile of now empty hessian sacks. Steve chuckled, Tony resumed his task as if uninterrupted, and within a minute, they were both in minimal clothing, the hessian scratching at their skin. Tony pressed his lips to Steven’s skin again, leaving a red mark behind before the blonde could stop him.  
Steve made a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, and tightened his fingers on Tony’s waist. Tony’s hands slid down Steven’s stomach and wasted no time in wrapping around his already hard cock. Just as quickly, he started pumping his fist, and Steven gasped. Despite everything, he wasn’t quite used to Tony’s forwardness. Tony let go soon after that, and reached for something, leaning up to coax Steven into a kiss at the same time.  
“Here…” He sat Steven up and ripped the rubber open, discarding the foil off to one side. He deftly rolled it on Steven’s length and grinned in a feral manner. “Now,” he paused and handed something to Steven.  
“Umm, what?” Steve stared at the tube in his hand.  
“Open it, put it on yourself, and fuck me.” As per usual, Tony was totally shameless. The genius fell back to the grain bags with a soft thump and closed his eyes, making himself comfortable. Sex wouldn’t really hurt him all that much. It wasn’t as if this was his first time. He felt Steven loom over him, one hand by his head.  
“So… this won’t hurt you?” Steve asked. Oh God he was nervous that he would mess something up and hurt Tony and he didn’t want that and he hadn’t done this before so he wouldn’t know.  
“Not at all.” Tony hooked his legs around Steven’s waist and drew him closer, and felt the tip of Steven’s length, guided by the blonde’s large hand, tap at his entrance. “Just fucking do it.”  
Steve leant forwards and bit his tongue against the moan when he penetrated Tony. It was much better than a hand. Or a mouth for that matter. Warm and snug, and… a shiver ran down his spine and he pressed in further until his hips were pressed against Tony’s thighs.  
“Mmm that’s good.” Tony groaned, arching his back. Steve was big. “You can move if you want.”  
Steve nodded, barely supressing a bubbly grin (oh God he was having sex—with Tony—which, two years ago was something that was never going to happen) and leant down to press a kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth before drawing back. He had just pushed back in when they were disturbed by and obnoxious beeping. Tony groaned.  
“Ignore it Jarvis.” He said.  
The phone beeped again, more insistent this time, shriller.  
“Just… fuck! Wait a sec!” Tony flung an arm out to find his jeans. Why did is phone have to ring now? “Just my fucking luck.” He found his jeans and rolled his hips up to meet Steven’s, who gave a half-groan. It wasn’t the first time he had been in a potentially important phone call whilst having sex. He leant up and pecked Steven on the mouth. “Just stay quiet, alright?” He tapped the phone until he found the right button, and held it to his ear. “Hello? You’ve reached the life model of Tony Stark, please leave a message and if I like you, I’ll call back.” Steve refrained from chuckling.  
Steve fell still, half a mind to pull away, if it weren’t for Tony’s legs locked around his waist, and instead rubbed Tony’s collarbone with his thumb. Tony too, fell silent after a minute or so.  
Then he went pale, and his legs went limp.  
His voice went very serious after that, “Are you sure?” He sat up, and slid away, hardly noticing Steven any more. He hung up after that, and just sat there, staring at some point in the distance. And he just sat there, and stared.  
“Tony?” Steve asked, cautiously, quietly. “Is…” He cleared his throat. “Is everything alright?”  
Tony seemed to snap back to the present then. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. “I just need a drink.” He reached for his pants again and pulled them on, and Steve nodded.  
“You’re still underage.” He said before he could stop himself. Tony was too out of it to notice. He too, got dressed.  
He went to lead Tony back to the farm house, but Tony jerked his arm away and scowled. “I’ll be fine. You go finish your chores.”  
Steve grabbed Tony into a hug, his strong arms easily circling Tony’s body, pinning his arms to his sides. He couldn’t help himself; Tony looked like crap, and looked like he needed a hug.  
Tony let himself lean on Steven for a bare moment, and then pulled away. “I’ll be alright.” Without further ado, he was walking back to the farmhouse, tapping away at the screen of his phone.  
Steve stood there for a second, watching Tony walk away sadly. Whatever it was that he was told on the phone, it wasn’t nice news.

His bottle was almost empty already. Shit.  
For Tony, life had never really been that easy. He had been born to Howard and Maria Stark, and whilst he had tried his hardest to be noticed by them, despite everything, he hadn’t. His parents, quite simply were never there for him. Tony could swear that he had never seen his father happier than the day Tony had been registered to boarding school, and then when he was supposed to be home for summer, he had been sent to the Roger’s Ranch.  
He faked his age and entered MIT when he was fifteen, and graduated with an Honours Degree in Computer Technology a year later. Still, his parents hadn’t loved him, and so he quite simply, gave up on trying to impress them.  
If, before he had finished his university degree, people considered him to be a little bit wild, then well… they would probably be surprised now.  
Nowadays, Tony was quite possibly considered a little out of control. He didn’t really try to restrain himself, and as a direct result, had been on national TV more than once or twice. And not because he had found an alternative to nuclear energy. No, he had done that already, he just hadn’t told anyone.  
But despite the all too frequent arguments with his father, Tony had only ever wanted Howard to say; ‘Son, I’m proud of you.’ He waited, and waited, and waited.  
But it never happened.  
He tipped the bottle up, his lips barely catching the last few drops.  
And after all of that, now, his parents were dead.  
Plane crash. Could’ve happened to anyone. Now, the chance that it wasn’t an accident was about… Tony fumbled for numbers, tried to remember the sums, but nothing came up. He growled angrily and let the empty bottle fall to the floor by his leg. But he did know, (somewhere, somehow) that the chances were that his parents had been killed, it hadn’t been an accident.  
Considering that they ran a multi-billion dollar, international company, it was one of those things that was going to happen. What no one had counted on, not even Tony himself, was that he, Tony was now CEO.  
He was CEO of Stark industries at age; 21.  
He wasn’t ready to take over a company. He had never planned for it to happen. He had honestly thought that after his escapades during and after his stay at MIT, that avenue was closed to him. Not that he really wanted it.  
He was just starting a new bottle when there was a tentative knock on his door. He made a vague noise that he had meant to mean as ‘come in’, and the person seemed to realise that.  
“Oh God, Tony.” Steve closed the door behind himself and rushed across the room. He pried the bottle from Tony’s alcohol-weakened fingers, who protested, and set it aside, unable to find the cap. “I thought we’d been over this already. You’re too young to drink.”  
“’m not. I’m twenty… twenty one.” Tony argued. “Sides, I’ve been dr’nking fer years.” He actually sounded surprisingly sober, with only a slight slur, but Steve could see one empty bottle, and Tony was about to start a second. And he knew from firsthand experience that this moonshine stuff was strong.  
“You’re still drunk. You’ve had enough.” Steve sat next to Tony, placing himself between Tony and the bottles of moonshine.  
“Steven!” Tony whined, pawing at Steven’s shoulder. “I need it!”  
“Tony.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Shut up.”  
For some reason, this sent Tony into a fit of giggles.  
“What?” He asked indignantly.  
“You never say that.” Tony leant against Steven’s shoulder. “You know, Steven, you should meet my phone someday. You’d like him.”  
“Right.” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Hey, why do you call me Steven?”  
“’s your name.”  
“No, I mean why not shorten it to Steve?”  
“’cause you’re not Steve.” Tony mumbled. “He was… ughh… he was the best. Put up with all my shit, and I think…” Tony hiccupped, and reached into his pocket for his phone. “Hey Jarvis?” He asked.  
“Sir, can I suggest that you take Steven’s advice and stop drinking?” Steve stiffened when the phone spoke back, and even named him.  
“Shut it, Jarvis. You’re not my mum.”  
“I advise against mentioning her, sir.”  
“Whatever. Just… just play the recording of that night whenever it was.”  
“Shall I cut out the pauses?”  
Tony closed his eyes and leant back against the wall. “Whatever floats your boat.”  
“I shall then.” The phone cleared its voice (sort of. Do phones even need to clear their voice?) And then Tony’s voice was coming from the piece of technology. 

_“Oh fucking hell! No, just stop it. Stupid piece of junk toaster!”_ This was followed by a loud crash and a thump.

Tony sniggered.  
The phone coughed, and started the recording again, this time it was the phone’s voice. 

_“You seem somewhat agitated, sir.”_  
Tony’s voice. _“Do I? Well, good. Actually, it’s not. Jarvis, did you know that nothing really pisses me off?”  
“Not really sir, no.”  
“Well, nothing really does annoy me, but there’s this one thing.” _ Tony’s voice paused, waiting for a response.  
 _“And that would be?”  
“People! Well, one person in particular.”  
“Who would that be then?”  
_ Steve already had a bad feeling.  
 _“That Rogers kid. I hate him! And I don’t even know why!”  
“Have you considered how you feel about him when he isn’t around?”  
“But that’s just it! I can’t stop thinking about him and it’s driving me fucking crazy!”_ There was another crash, and then Tony’s voice, angrier this time. _“I swear to the Reborn Christ, Dummy, if you drop something on me again, I will donate you to MIT, and you remember what the lab was like there.”_ There was a sad whirring. _“Anyway, that’s the problem. Every goddamned year, I can’t help but see him and his stupid face every time I close my eyes, but he always looks so fucking worried, and I don’t like that!”  
“Sir, please put that down. It is ill advised for your mental health for you to start drinking right now.”  
“Shut up Jarvis. You’re not my mum.”_ There was a short pause, _“anyway, I’m such a jerk to him, I guess because I don’t want to think about him anymore, but then I feel like crap afterwards. And really, why him? Why not Peggy, or Bruce, or goddamnit even Tasha even though she’ll probably cut my arm off!”  
“Has it crossed your mind that you might like Steve?”  
“But I don’t!”  
“Tony, we have discussed this before. Lying is bad.”  
“Fine! I like him, now Dummy! Sit! I’m drinking this and you’re not stopping me!”  
“Sir, I must say, considering your research regarding one Steven Grant Rogers, I’d say that you quite possibly care about him to the point of love.”  
“Fuck you Jarvis.”_ Tony’s angry, bitten response was enough of a confirmation.

“End of recorded message.” Jarvis decided that enough had been said. “I can play other messages that confirm this. Although many of them had occurred when Master Stark was drunk.”  
“I think I’ve heard enough. Uhh, thank you, Jarvis.” Steve was a little unsure about talking to someone he couldn’t see.  
“You are welcome, Steven.”  
“So yeah.” Tony blurted. “I think I might be in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore because Steve’s never on the farm and he always used to be, so that’s why you’re Steven. Did you know that nearly 1% of the male population is called Steven? So yeah.”  
“I didn’t know that.” Steve said quietly. He opened his mouth to say something else, perhaps tell Tony that he was Steve, but noticed that Tony was asleep against his shoulder. Steve sighed and picked Tony up and placed him on the bed. Considering that it was Tony, and that he was rather drunk, he probably wasn’t going to wake until morning.  
Steve retrieved Tony’s blanket—considering that Tony hardly slept in here anyway, Steve was surprised that it had migrated to the other side of the room—and threw it over Tony’s body before leaving.  
Tried to leave.  
“Sir, may I request that you take me with you?”  
Steve froze. Tony’s phone seriously had a life of its own. It was scary. He tried to ignore it, but…  
“Steve Rogers.” He froze.  
“What?”  
“I know that you are Steven Grant Rogers, it wasn’t much of a task to discover this. And you never lied to Tony, so don’t fret. You did go to college. Just, I don’t want to listen to Master Stark rambling in his sleep again.”  
Steve walked back to Tony’s bedside. “So uhh…”  
“I am in Master Stark’s jacket pocket.”  
“Thanks.”  
“You’re welcome, sir.”  
“Please just call me Steve. So, you’re Tony’s phone.”  
“Technically, I am not. I am actually a computer database AI based in Malibu, California. What is contained in this phone is maintained by direct satellite uplink.”  
“Right, so does everything Tony owns talk?”  
“I am glad to say that no, it doesn’t. The workshop is quite noisy enough without it.”  
Steve was in the kitchen now. He was (slowly) getting used to talking to Tony’s phone.  
“What have you got there?” Peggy was setting the table for dinner. There were a few others in the kitchen helping to make the food.  
“Oh, it’s Tony’s phone. It wanted to come with me… That sounds odd.”  
“It does.” Natasha plucked the phone from his hands. “Considering this can hardly be called a phone.”  
Steve looked at Tony’s phone. It was completely lifeless, as opposed to before, where the screen—glass like as it was—was lit up with a rainbow of colours.  
“But I swear it was…” Steve reached for the slip of glass, and Natasha held it away from him. “It—he does talk. I swear.”  
“Well then,” Natasha turned her attention to the phone. “Hello? Steve says you talk.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Does ‘he’ have a name then?”  
Steve’s face was burning by now. He wasn’t lying. “Jarvis.” He said quietly.  
“Hello Jarvis?” Natasha shrugged and allowed Steve to take the phone back.  
“Jarvis?” He asked nervously. He was seriously starting to think that he had been hallucinating. Maybe he had taken Tony’s offer and had a drink and it was tainted. He had done some reading on moonshine. If not distilled properly, it could produce hallucinations and blindness even. Oh dear.  
“Yes Steve?” The phone came to life then, things flicking across the screen until it all settled into place. Everyone froze in the kitchen, staring at the phone. “I apologise if I caused any inconvenience. I am programmed to deny unauthorised access.”  
“So…”  
“Yes, you are an authorised user.”  
Someone wolf-whistled.  
“I am afraid I do not understand the necessity to whistle.”  
“Yeah.” Steve thumbed the corner of the phone. “So umm authorised users… are they common?”  
“The definition of common is a broad one, but I do believe that the answer is ‘no’. Aside from Mr Stark, there are now three authorised users.”  
“Now?” Steve inquired, wandering over to the sitting room to well… sit. No one followed him. “Were there more?”  
“Yes, there were until recently, but I believe that Tony should to tell you that.”  
“Right…”

The next morning, Tony was a functioning human being again, a totally sober, coffee guzzling human being again. He paused in the kitchen to bump his forehead against Steve’s arm tiredly before getting his bowl of cereal. “Do you have my phone?” Tony asked.  
Steve leant on Tony’s shoulders and dropped the phone into his breast pocket. “Nope.” He grabbed Tony’s coffee cup and drank some before straightening up and heading out the door. “Come out when you’re ready.”  
Tony took his time. Since he was now CEO of Stark Industries, he had to return home soon before the other corporate sharks took advantage of his absence. So he packed his stuff, and sat in his room for a bit, and took a little liquid courage. There was one more thing to do, just in case he never got to come back here.  
He had to find Steve Rogers.  
Unfortunately, he ran into Steven first, and despite everything, he had actually become quite attached to Steven, he was a really nice person and Tony could actually say he would miss Steven when he left, but not as much as he missed Steve already.  
He grabbed Steven’s shirt tightly and pulled him down for a kiss, rough and short, but when he tried to pull away, Steven was holding him too tightly, and oh God Steven was a good kisser—when did that happen?  
“That was unexpected.” Steve commented, tilting his head. He was a little puzzled. Tony was unusually responsive, and that was saying something.  
“Yeah, I’m in a bit of a rush, I’ve got to find Peggy and then I have to go home.”  
“Home as in…”  
“Back to California.” Tony said sharply. He wasn’t going to soften things for Steven. If Steven wanted to see him again, then it wouldn’t be too difficult to fine the all too famous Stark house there. And Tony would be all too happy to accommodate for an old(?) friend. “My parents were killed in a plane crash yesterday afternoon, over the Pacific Ocean. It will take weeks to find any wreckage, and just as long to find bodies, or hopefully, survivors.”  
“Oh my God, Tony I am so sorry.”  
Tony barked out a laugh. “To be honest, if it weren’t for this farm and one other person,” Tony paused, imagining that he was talking to Steve, and that he was saying you and this farm. “I would’ve been on that plane with them. Besides, they might still be alive. They’re both trained pilots, and all we know is that the plane went down. They could’ve easily parachuted out before it hit the water.”  
Steve knew exactly what Tony was doing. He was lying, to himself and Steve, to give himself false hope. Tony knew the truth, and Steve wouldn’t be surprised if Tony had some high-tech thing with his parents to tell if they’re alive or not. So really, Tony just didn’t want him to worry, and that made his heart swell a little. He pulled Tony into a warm bear hug. “Well then,” he whispered into Tony’s ear, having to stoop to do so. “Take care, and I hope everything turns out alright.”  
Me too. Tony thought. “You haven’t seen Peggy now, have you?”  
“Yeah, she’s around the corral. They’re still trying to break that filly, and they don’t want me to use my magic touch.” He winked, and Tony wondered where the slightly awkward guy from last year went. Back then, Steven, although appeared to know what he was doing, had that air that shy first-timers had. Tony had found it rather cute and endearing.  
“Thanks.” He patted Steven on the upper arm and headed towards the corral.  
Indeed, Peggy was there, with Natasha, Jane and a tall, broad man who was leaning on an enormous sledge hammer.  
“Hey there ladies… and dude.” He announced his presence.  
“Hello!” The man turned around, a giant grin plastered to his face. He seemed unable to keep his voice below 80 decibels. “The delightful Miss Natasha is teaching us how to break a horse!” He wiped a hand across his forehead to wipe away sweat and a few stray strands of long, blonde hair.  
“Yeah, well you won’t need the hammer.” He turned to Peggy, who was holding the lead rope that was attached to the filly. It was, understandably, skittish. Taking into consideration that Natasha was eyeing it carefully, holding a saddle. “Anyway, Peggy can I talk to you? It’s really important.”  
Peggy stared into his eyes, and he began to feel uncomfortable, so he looked away. “Alright then. Talk.”  
“Uhh, I’d prefer in private.”  
“I’d prefer not.”  
“Peggy.” Tony sighed. “Please?”  
Peggy wordlessly handed the lead rope to Natasha, and allowed a relieved Tony to lead her away some distance. “Well then? Please make this quick.”  
“I will. Something important has come up and I have to leave today, but before I go, I need to see Steve. You haven’t seen him around?”  
“Steve?”  
“Yeah.”  
Peggy burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me?”  
“No, if I was I wouldn’t be fucking asking!” Tony snapped. He didn’t have time for this crap.  
“Steve. Oh God… well… I thought you’d know where he’s gone. You’ve only been making out with him behind the barn for the past eight weeks.”  
“I…” Tony froze. “Are we both talking about Steve Rogers?”  
“I’d certainly hope so.” Peggy sighed. “You really are stupid, aren’t you?” She reached out and slapped him across the side of the head, and Tony jerked backwards, his ear ringing.  
“Yeah, goodbye to you too.” He grumbled. “Thanks for telling me sooner.” He called as he was leaving.  
“You didn’t ask!” Peggy shouted after him.  
Tony just flipped her the bird over his shoulder.

Tony didn’t hang around to see Steven—Steve—before he left. He just waited in one of the emptier fields until a Stark Industries helicopter arrived, all white and shiny and so out of place, and as he vanished up into the sky, he looked back down on the farm and wondered if he would ever see it again. And then all traces of such thoughts were wiped from his mind, and he was already tossing around ideas for his grand entrance as CEO.  
He refused to admit to himself that he was running away without saying goodbye, at the least.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Explain again why Jarvis wants me to pack a bag and go with you?”  
> “I’m going to quote Jarvis here and tell you that I’m unauthorised to tell you.” Steve put his hands on his hips and rested his weight on his back leg. He grinned and Tony sighed.   
> “Fine. Whatever.” Tony huffed and stomped out of the kitchen. Steve let his grin slide into a fond smile, and tapped his fingers on the granite bench top. Old patterns, but he could still feel them drumming out across his skin.

Steve’s fingers drummed out patterns on the glass bottle—binary—but he didn’t know that. He was just remembering Tony tapping out these patterns on his skin once upon a time.  
It had been several months since Tony had left.  
“Steve…” Peggy reached out and took the bottle off him. “This isn’t good for you.”  
Steve chuckled, and his fingers started drumming on the table instead. “Peggy, by all rights, I should’ve died by now from drinking that much moonshine, but I’m completely sober. Just give me the bottle back.”  
“No. You’re too young to drink.”  
“Peggy, have I shown you my drawings lately?”  
“Yeah.”  
“No, I mean all of them.”  
“No, then.”  
Steve wordlessly pointed to a black, spiral bound sketch book across the kitchen table. “I’m trying to forget all that. Just… umm, don’t look past the first few pages. You’ll know when you’ve gone too far.”  
Peggy flicked through the book, regardless of the content. “Well, despite the disturbing content, you’ve gotten good.”  
“But the point is, I can’t stand to touch that book anymore.”  
“Yeah, yeah. I get it Steve. You lov—”  
She was cut off when people started streaming into the kitchen, and someone turned the TV on.   
“Sorry.” Natasha whispered to Peggy as she walked past.  
“There’s some big hoo-ha in the news.” Someone explained. The person was shushed quickly when the news story came on.  
The drumming of Steve’s fingers slowly came to a stop when he saw the headlines. The moment they flashed away to show an empty hospital corridor, Steve shoved himself to his feet, the chair scraping loudly across the hardwood floor. He was gone from the room before Peggy could call his name.

“Have you even thought about this?” Peggy demanded, stomping after Steve through the thick mud.  
“No.” Steve chuckled, a hoarse, forced sound to tuck his despair away into a deep corner of his heart.  
“We can’t stop him.” Natasha was right behind Peggy, she seemed, at least, to understand how Steve was feeling. “But really, what exactly can you do?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Do you even know how to get to California?”  
This time, Steve’s laugh wasn’t so forced. “Yeah. I’ve got a pretty good map.” Inside his breast pocket, a slip of glass weighed heavy against his heart. “Look, I’ll be fine, I’m not a kid, really. I’m twenty now. I’ve got enough money to get myself over there, and then I can get a job somewhere until I can get back.”  
“And you are aware that this trip will take you at least two days, probably three. You’re riding an old farm motorbike that doesn’t go over 50.”  
“Hey, I could be taking the horse and cart.” Steve reminded her. “The bike runs just fine, and I can fix most of its problems. And I’ll be in contact. I’ll send a letter at each main town I pass through.” He pulled the hessian bag off his bike—since the float in the fuel line got crushed last winter when the fuel froze, he kept the engine covered to prevent such a thing from happening again.  
“Have you recalled yet that hey, yes, your cell does send text messages and can make phone calls from other states?”  
“But I might not get to charge it often.” Steve protested. “You are getting mail. End of story.” He gave his bike the once-over and kicked it to life. “Now c’mere.” He wrapped his arm around Peggy’s waist and kissed her on the cheek, before letting her go. “Love you, Peg.”  
Peggy chuckled, and sniffed. She would miss Steve, mainly because she would have to help pick up the slack from his chores.  
“No.” Natasha said before Steve could snag her too. “I’m not giving you a kiss goodbye.”  
“Well then.” Steve shrugged and pulled his helmet on. It was uncomfortable. He never had to wear it on the farm. “See you all in a month or so.” He flicked the bike into first gear and departed.   
Behind him, Peggy allowed Natasha to bundle her into the redhead’s arms.   
“It’s a shit life.” Natasha commented. “Damn he’s blind, isn’t he?”  
Peggy just sobbed silently into Natasha’s shoulder. She never really had told Steve that she loved him too.  
When Steve got away from the farm a little, he pulled up to a stop and pulled out the phone that Tony had left behind, quite deliberately, Steve thought (He was right, of course).   
“Jarvis?”  
“Yes sir?”   
“Steve, please. So where do I go?”

It took Steve three days to get to California. He honestly had no real clue where he was, or where he was supposed to go. Jarvis, however, did. So that was good.  
What had amazed him whilst on his journey was the mountains. Tennessee was rather flat. When he hit the western border of Texas, all he could see (and travel through) for miles was one enormous mountain range.  
To his relief, the bike only had one issue, and that was easily solved when he took the sparkplug out and wiped the terminal on it. How grease got in there was a mystery, but it didn’t matter.  
“So where in California are we going?” By the end of the trip, Steve was quite used to talking to the English-accented AI. It provided him with company. He wasn’t quite used to being alone.  
“First, to Master Stark’s house in Malibu. I must say, although your attire suits you, it will not be appropriate for a city.”  
“Thank you, Jarvis.” Steve grinned to himself at the complement. He might have been tall and strong for two or so years now, but he still wasn’t used to the second looks and compliments he received. “And you’re probably right. So, where now?”  
“Can you see the highway up ahead?” Jarvis didn’t pause for an answer. “Take that South.”  
“Umm…”  
“Turn left onto it.” So he did.

Steve felt ridiculously out of place when he got to wherever it was that Jarvis was directing him. It was worse that he had to stop at every intersection and pull the phone out to have a look at the map that was blipping on the screen. If he accidentally took a wrong turn, Jarvis would recalibrate in seconds, so it wasn’t too much of a big deal.  
Nevertheless, oh God then there we the people. People everywhere. Moreover, they all seemed to be staring at him and his rattly old farm bike.  
He just wanted to hide.  
“You need to turn right at the very end of this street, and follow that road along until I vibrate.”  
The phone vibrated a few miles out of town and by the time Steve had realised and stopped, he was dead in front of a set of large, wrought-iron gates.  
“Please hold me up to that sensor over there.” When Steve did this, the gates swung open silently, and Jarvis ordered him inside. After that, the phone fell completely silent, so Steve pulled up when he was at the end of the driveway, right in front of perhaps the biggest house he had seen. He killed the engine, and walked up the short flight of stairs to the front door. Before he could knock, or ring the doorbell, however, the door swung open.  
He stepped inside. “Welcome, Steve, to the Stark House, Malibu.” The same, English accent greeted him.   
“So umm…” Steve was lost for words.  
“Yes, I am the same Jarvis that is on that phone there. Now, if you head up that flight of stairs there, and make yourself comfortable, I shall contact a tailor and purchase some clothes in your size. However I can multitask and if you require anything, do not hesitate to ask.”  
That day was Steve’s first experience with a living house. The window that looked out over the bay was not dissimilar to a computer display, showing various pieces of data, the weather, the temperature of various things in the house, the news, the list went on. Steve didn’t look for long because the main headline was the exact reason he was here.  
“The tailor shall be here within half an hour. If you would like a shower, there is a bathroom just down the corridor. Just follow the arrows.”  
For a moment, Steve wondered what Jarvis meant by arrows, but then he saw by the door a little screen with a red arrow on it. Right, follow the arrows.   
The bathroom was beyond a large bedroom that wasn’t quite dominated by the king-sized bed in the middle, not by a long shot. He had a shower, and when he got back down stairs from the bathroom, there was a suit-clad man in the foyer, a briefcase at his leg.  
Steve blinked and then realised that it was the tailor. His brain clicked into farm-style manners. “I am so sorry. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”  
The man frowned. “It is no trouble.” He seemed puzzled by the courtesy. “Shall we get started?”  
“The downstairs living room is empty.” Said Jarvis.  
The first thing Steve was required to do was remove his shirt and jeans, and he was left standing there, feeling awkward in his underwear.  
“So are there any styles that you are favoured to?”  
Steve gave a nervous chuckle. “To be honest, I don’t wear much aside from jeans and t-shirts.”  
“Well then, this will be fun. Stand still with your arms out.”  
The tailor took Steve’s measurements, and then left him standing there for a few minutes whilst he went somewhere. The man returned with a lady, who eyed Steve’s well-built body appreciatively. The two tailors had, between them, a number of suit-bags.  
“We’ll go with something simple. Farm seems to suit him, so we can start from there.” Steve was feeling rather overwhelmed by this point, and he mutely accepted the set of clothes he was offered. A soft, cotton shirt, dark blue denim jeans that fit him like a glove, with a dark brown leather belt.   
“How’s that?” The tailor asked.  
“It’s uhh… comfortable.” Steve finally decided on saying. What was he supposed to say? He looked to the tailor for conformation, but the tailor only looked relieved. “Is everything alright?” Steve couldn’t help but ask.  
“You’re very undemanding.” The tailor-girl admitted. “It’s quite nice. So, we’ll leave you with those clothes I think. You seem confused.”   
“Yeah,” Steve smiled at her. She was quite nice. He had heard some nasty things about city people, but this girl was nice. “Thanks.”  
The girl made a little small talk whilst the man packed everything up. Her final question; “so where do you come from?”  
Steve did a double take. “Uhh.. Tennessee.”  
She smiled, and picked up some suit bags. “Explains the accent. Well, thank you for the business, sir.”  
“Steve.” He said sharply. He wasn’t having anyone call him ‘sir’. Not even Jarvis. “I’m not that important.”  
“Steve.” She said, putting great emphasis on the word, almost sighing at the same time. Goodness, this Steve was quite stupid, wasn’t he? “You are in Tony Stark’s house, talking to his… house, whilst he’s noticeably absent. I’d say you are more important than you realise. I’m Darcy, by the way.” She gave a wave, and left.  
“Steve,” Jarvis said after Steve had returned to the kitchen area. “I recommend that you eat something, and then proceed with your original plan.”  
Right, get to California, see Tony. That was the plan. Except…  
He went to the fridge and opened it. It was… rather empty, except for a few odd things.   
“There is some bread in the bread bin underneath the oven, and various condiments in the cupboard by the window.”  
Steve ended up making himself a peanut butter sandwich, decided that staying here to eat it was pointless, and so went back outside to get back on his bike and find Tony.  
“Please don’t forget to take me.” Jarvis said. “You will get quite lost.”   
“Thanks.” Steve grabbed his leather riding jacket and pulled it on. Tony’s phone was in the pocket.  
“I also suggest that you borrow a car. Your motorbike needs serious work after its journey. I do believe that one of the pistons is showing signs of wear. If you wheel it around to the back of the house, you can leave it in the garage, and choose a car of your liking.”  
Unfortunately, Tony didn’t seem to own a car that cost less than a few hundred thousand dollars, so he eventually decided on the most nondescript car he could find. He didn’t really enjoy being stared at. Tony, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy attention.  
He stared at the controls for the black (shiny) Audi. “This is an automatic, isn’t it.”  
“It is indeed.”  
“How do I drive it?” he had only ever driven a manual.  
“It is the same as a manual, except you do not need to use the clutch, as there is none, and you do not need to change gears as you drive.”  
“Right then.”

To be perfectly honest, Steve didn’t like hospitals. He knew that they were a necessity, he just didn’t really like how they ran. They were very inefficient. However, he didn’t like this particular hospital because there were media vans everywhere.  
“I suggest you park and walk to the hospital. I can warn you that the media personnel are very insistent, so I shall remain silent until you are alone again. You will walk through the crowd to the front desk and ask to see Mr Stark.”  
Steve nodded, and gripped the steering wheel tightly. He could do this. He definitely could. He hadn’t travelled 1 600 miles to chicken out. He parked the car and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The headline flashed behind his eyelids. DISASTER AT STARK INDUSTRIES. He forced himself to look back at the crowded media, who seemed to realise that he had pulled up in a Stark car.  
“Just ignore them and walk inside.” Jarvis said from his pocket.  
He removed the keys from the ignition, placed the ticket that gained him access to the car park in the centre console, and pulled himself out of the car. Doing his best to disregard the hubbub around him, the flashing cameras, the shouted questions, people jostling against him, he slipped through the crowd, somehow managing to not knock anyone over considering they were all shorter than him, and got inside the front doors. Suddenly, it was silent. Must be some invisible line stopping the media from entering the hospital.  
He approached the front desk and waited patiently for the nurse to finish what she was doing.  
“Hi there.” She looked up and blinked at him. “Can I help you?”  
“Yes, I’m here to see Tony?”  
“Tony…?” she raised an eyebrow.  
“Oh, Anthony Stark.”  
The nurse sniggered. “I’m sorry, but visits are for family members only.” Tony had no family, no known friends asides from his colleagues, and some farm kid wanted to see him?  
Steve’s jaw stiffened and he was about to reply.  
Jarvis chose that moment to speak up. “I do believe under the recent law change, please don’t make me spout numbers, that any patient who lacks an available family member, in this case Master Stark’s cousin is presently in Germany, that any friend can be considered the support person of a patient.” The nurse was totally speechless after Steve bought out the phone. “Also, Tony is in room 341. You should get a software update. Now, Steve if you please, I need to see Tony too.”  
The nurse reached under the desk for the button that opened the doors to the ward. “Yeah, just uhh… go through.”  
Jarvis directed Steve through the hospital, and finally, to a room. Through the window, Steve couldn’t see Tony, his view blocked by a large man and several machines. Steve swallowed heavily and knocked gently on the doorframe.  
The large man opened the door and was quite surprised to see Steve standing there, radiating worry and farm-boy charm. Steve noted that the man was bald, with a thick white beard and eagle-like eyes. He was wearing an expensive looking suit. “Yes?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Hello.” Steve only felt a little intimidated. He was just as tall as this man, if not taller. “Is Tony here?”  
The man blinked lazily a few times, appearing to stall for time. “Why would you be asking?”  
“Can you please just let me see him?” Steve didn’t wait for an answer and slipped past the man quickly when he adjusted his weight to his back foot. “Oh my God, Tony…” He rushed over to the bed where Tony was laying, completely unconscious. He knelt so he was more on Tony’s level and put the phone on the sheets.  
“Hey, I didn’t say you could come in!” The man strode over to the bed and grabbed Steve’s shoulder tightly. Then his grip loosened. “Where did you get that phone?”  
Steve stood again and frowned. “Tony left it on my bedside table a few months ago.” He stepped back a little—the strange man was way too close.  
“Yes, and his parents are still alive.”   
“Steve is telling the truth.” Jarvis interrupted. “You however, are not, Mr Stane. How is this a comparison?”   
Steve chewed his tongue for a moment, and then decided that Mr Stane wasn’t going to do anything more, and so held his hand out. “Steve Rogers.”  
Mr Stane disregarded the proffered hand. “Obadiah Stane.” He returned to where he had been before Steve entered, standing next to the door, back to the wall. “So why are you here? What can you possibly mean to Tony?”  
Well, now Steve felt awkward. What was he supposed to say to that?  
“I… I’m not entirely sure.” He whispered. He cleared his throat and repeated that louder. “But I do care about him a lot.” Steve stopped himself before he went rambling on about Tony, and possibly let something awkward slip. To be honest, Obadiah didn’t look like a tolerant person, and so Steve was worried that he wouldn’t like too much that he and Tony had been fooling around back at the farm. “But really, I’m only here because Jarvis wanted to see Tony.”  
“That is not entirely true, but I do want to see him. Has he woken yet?”  
“I’m not sure.” Mr Stane said sharply. “I haven’t been here long.”  
“Thank you, Mr Stane. Your presence is no longer required.”  
Steve twitched, trying his best not to laugh, or choke or something when he heard Jarvis talk so rudely to someone who was clearly important. He watched Stane stand, and go to the door. He paused and looked over Steve, in what looked to be farm clothes and the oldest leather jacket in the history of the Earth with a sneer. “Obviously.”  
The moment the door was shut, Jarvis sighed as if he had been holding in a breath. (Do computers hold their breaths even?) “I thought he would never leave. I have never liked him really.”  
Steve smiled and went back to the bed, picking the phone up. “What do you think?” He asked Jarvis.  
“I think that the media was fed a false story.”  
“So what was the media told exactly? I only really saw the headline and the picture and panicked.”  
“The media was told that there was a mishap in Tony’s workshop, which he had been working in for a few months. He does that, and there was an explosion that he was too close to, causing serious burns to his torso. There is a grain of truth in there. He has been burnt.”  
Despite the seriousness, Steve chuckled, and took a seat by the head of Tony’s bed, reaching out to gently sweep some hair from his face. “The actual truth, then?”  
“It is not for me to tell you.”

Steve only left the hospital room for periodic breaks for food and to use the bathroom. He vehemently refused to go back to the house, and to take a hospital bed, so the staff allowed him to sleep in the chair by Tony’s bed.  
Obadiah visited once a day, stayed for thirty minutes, or until Jarvis (rudely) made him leave, and left the newspaper behind. Besides, it wasn’t like Steve had nothing to do. He completed the puzzles in the back of the newspapers, drew a little, finally got around to contacting the farm to let them all know that he was fine and Natasha, no Tony’s not awake yet so you cannot tell him he’s an idiot and Bruce no, you cannot talk to Jarvis because he point blank refuses to talk to unauthorised people except for Stane but that’s an exception because Steve would probably allow himself to be pressured from the room if Jarvis didn’t tell Obadiah to get out. (Jarvis said that last part. Steve objected.)  
Talking to Peggy was perhaps the worst part. He really did miss her, and he was certain that if Tony hadn’t come to the farm, or nothing had actually happened to Tony after he left, he probably would’ve ended up dating her because she was a truly wonderful person. Their conversations didn’t last long. They’d say a few words and then sit there in silence for a minute or so, just keeping company, allowing each other to feel what couldn’t be, and wasn’t said.  
His grandmother, Eloise, would chat for a bit and then remind him to eat something more than ‘that dreadful hospital food’, and to not worry about them.   
The rest of the time, when his fingers cramped up and he couldn’t sketch any more, he would talk to Jarvis or a nurse if there were one checking Tony.  
Surprisingly, the tailor-girl, Darcy, that Steve had met at Tony’s house showed up once or twice, all cheery and all too willing to tell Steve all about Tony when he was little. For example, when he was eight, Tony had built a rocket, attached a toaster to it and actually sent the toaster into orbit. It was still up there somewhere.  
Another woman visited too, on the odd occasion. She was very professional, her reddish-orange hair tied back in a tight bun. Steve knew when it was her that was visiting because he could hear her heels on the floor when she was at the other end of the corridor, that and her knocks on the door were precise and sharp. She introduced herself as ‘Pepper’, and Steve couldn’t help but wonder what parents would call their daughter that. She would sit in Steve’s seat by the head of the bed and hold Tony’s hand for a while, once Steve left to get them both a cup of coffee—the instant kind, it was a hospital. It’s a wonder they have coffee at all—and when he came back, Pepper was silently sobbing, her forehead resting against Tony’s shoulder. She quickly excused herself, leaving Steve with two Styrofoam cups of instant coffee.  
Sometimes, Pepper didn’t come alone, on the odd occasion, a military looking man with dark skin would accompany her, his air all serious. Steve tried talking to him once, but it didn’t turn out too well. He was recommended to join the navy, which he never really wanted to do—he would if he was needed to, but there was no war, no fighting that he would be needed for, and so he didn’t want to go.  
Steve decided that Peggy might like to meet this man, they would probably get along rather well.  
Until finally, one day, Tony woke up.  
Steve was dozing, his head leaning against Tony’s thigh, hand linked with Tony’s, and then the heart rate monitor had jumped and started beeping a little more insistently, and Steve was awake in an instant, shaking the last dregs of sleep from his mind, and locking his muscles to stretch them out of their uncomfortable position.  
“Tony?” He asked quietly, gently squeezing Tony’s fingers in his hand. “Hey, c’mon. I’ve been sitting here all week,”  
“Actually, it’s nine days now.” Jarvis cut in.  
“There, nine days, and then I was riding for three days before that, and people say that you’re not worth it. You won’t be bloody worth it if you don’t wake up!”  
“And we have a record.” Tony murmured.  
Steve was stunned into silence.  
Tony’s eyes cracked open. “Have you ever said ‘bloody’ before?” He didn’t give Steve a chance to reply, “Oh shit my chest hurts.”  
Steve released Tony’s hand when he went to push himself up. “Wait a moment, let me help.” He stood and slid his arm under Tony’s back before propping him up with pillows. Tony groaned in pain, and Steve refused to stop apologising.   
“So, do you know what happened?” Tony finally got a word in, and asked this sheepishly.  
“Not really.” Steve admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.  
“I do, and sir, might I say it’s nice to see you with your eyes open again.” Jarvis spoke up.  
“Thanks buddy. Good to hear you too.”  
“Thank you, sir. When you were admitted to hospital, you had numerous fragments of shrapnel in your chest, embedded behind your ribs. Doctors managed to remove a lot of it, but there are still pieces in your body, either embedded in bone, or too close to vital organs to safely remove. Presently, the bandages are holding electromagnets to your chest to stop the fragments from piercing your heart. Should that happen, I am afraid that you shall die.” Steve flinched, and would’ve told Jarvis off for not telling Steve this earlier, except there was Tony right there, kind of dazed and a little out of it, and hospital, so being loud wasn’t really a good idea.  
Tony nodded and stared off into the distance. Steve had a feeling that there was an imminent ‘Zombie Mode’ coming up.  
“I’m hungry.” Tony suddenly declared, before his gaze glazed over too much. “Do you have any food? And coffee. I’ll need coffee. And paper and a pencil.” He reached over and picked his phone up and started tapping frantically at the screen as he did so. “Quickly… please.” He glanced up at Steve, who smiled.   
“Sure. Give me a minute.” Steve squeezed Tony’s hand with his, and Tony’s fingers weakly squeezed back. He got up and left, alerting a nurse that Tony was finally awake (she rushed into his room and Steve could hear Tony’s whine of complaint), and continued to get coffee and paper. There was no way Tony was going to be allowed to see his sketchbook.  
When he got back, Tony was sitting up in his bed still, the nurse shining a penlight in his eye.  
“For the last time, I have no concussion, no lasting brain damage, my name is Anthony Edward Stark, I turn twenty two on March the third and can you please stop that!” He swatted away the nurse angrily, and caught sight of Steve, faithfully standing there with Tony’s coffee and paper. “Steven, babe, bring the caffeine here.” He reached out and grabbed at the air, the nurse pushed him back to the bed.  
“You are not cleared for caffeine yet, Mr Stark.”  
Steve blushed at Tony’s terminology, but didn’t hand the coffee over.  
“The hell I am!” Tony pushed feebly against the nurse. “Is there any way that these bandages can come off? They’re uncomfortable, I smell funny so I really need a wash, and I can drink coffee because I know more about this than you do, all right? Steven. Coffee. Now.” 

Tony refused to admit that the sexy, blonde farm-boy curled up in the window sill, the guy that he’d been fucking around with at the farm for two years, was the same person that he realised that he had fallen for. There was hardly a resemblance, asides from the hair, but really, at least 5% of Caucasian people had blonde hair, and 50% 0f people in America dyed their hair blonde so it was the biggest fucking coincidence, or not really, because honestly he was stupid.  
Really. Fucking. Stupid.  
Just how had he not seen that?  
He glanced over to the window sill where last time he had checked; Steve had been sitting there drawing. Steve was still sitting there, charcoal in hand, sketchbook propped on his knee, but he was dozing off, temple resting against the curtains, hand slipping across the page, probably smudging what he had been drawing.  
Tony allowed his eyes to wander across Steve’s body, for once taking in the lines, realising just how muscled the farm work had finally gotten him. Oddly enough, the curve of Steve’s spine was rather graceful under the too-small shirt and his tracksuits sat too low on his hips, (not that Tony minded). His eyes wandered back up from there, and landed on the white blotch that was Steve’s sketch book. He felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to see what Steve had been drawing. To see if Steve was any good, because Tony couldn’t really draw, not anything past the rigid lines of a generator, or the curving sweep of an ionised reactor—like what he was holding in his own hands. A crudely drawn circle, smeared with pencil lead where he wanted copper wires, roughly erased where he was going to put a conductor, once Jarvis finished running this algorithm to find a suitable substance. His hand flexed around his knee, and he let his fingers twitch, ever so slightly in Steve’s direction, before telling himself that he didn’t really care anyway. It had just been a fun fuck.  
He had long since decided that waking up to Steve holding his hand was the best feeling ever. He wasn’t quite sure why, but when he thought about it, it had left his stomach feeling fluttery, and his palm burning.  
And he wasn’t sure if he had liked it or not.

A few days after Tony woke up, Pepper finally managed to find time to visit him. Considering that she was running his company, he didn’t mind too much that she took so long. Considering that Steve was still around when she visited however was a different story entirely.  
Once it all finished, Tony wished that she hadn’t come at all.  
“Tony!” Pepper all but squealed when she saw him, propped up in his bed, Steve by his side. They had been talking. Discussing the weather, the farm, how was everyone since the last phone call? How had that filly come along? Oh, you did have to help in the end…   
Pepper broke all of that with her impromptu cry of delight, and nearly knocked Steve from his chair when she rushed to Tony’s side.   
“Hey now,” Tony tried to mumble something along the lines of ‘personal space, and germs. Germs are bad and I’m sore don’ttouchtheribs!’, but Pepper muffled all of that with a hasty kiss, right on the mouth, her fingers digging into Tony’s hair. And damnit Tony could see that coming from across the room. He didn’t want it really, not now. Now was a bad time. He was working things out with Steve. However, he couldn’t stop her if he tried. Lifting his arms past his waist hurt like hell, doing anything, hurt like hell, and he didn’t want to fuck things up with Steve again because Steve didn’t really know, or need to know, that Pepper kind of liked him just a little bit, and could act on her emotions more so than Steve did. Because Tony always knew that Steve had anger management issues.  
Steve choked up when Pepper kissed Tony. He shouldn’t’ve been so surprised, really. Pepper had always allowed her fingers to linger just that moment longer when she brushed hair away from Tony’s eyes, just as Steve’s did. Still, she was intruding, she broke up their conversation and Steve had actually been naïve enough to believe that all of this was a side of Tony that only he got to bear witness to. Kissing Tony, touching Tony, even just accidentally grazing his hand when they both reached for their pencils at the same time because they had rolled into the little valley in the sheets; forgotten when Tony wanted to tell Steve all about just how they were going to fix the motorbike when Tony got out. That was all his.   
But he was stupid and childish to believe that.  
Steve took the polite, farm boy approach that he had practiced for his entire life, every time he had seen Stark flirting with the people at the farm, and slipped out of the room.  
He suddenly felt trapped by the too clean walls of the hospital, when once they felt welcoming and cheerful, because he had someone to moan and bitch about it with. He had Tony to talk to, but in an instant, Pepper had managed to take that away. Probably by accident. No, definitely by accident. And Tony couldn’t’ve done anything because he couldn’t move properly so he couldn’t push her away. This was screaming at him in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t thinking about that. That would come later when he had space to breathe.  
He managed to find his way to the roof, and staggered to the edge of the building, clutching at the waist-high brick wall tightly, trying desperately to ignore the way that a calloused hand reached into his chest with ease, and carelessly reshuffled his organs.  
A ragged sob tore from his throat, the first tear spilled out from under his eyelashes, and the next thing he knew, he was leaning over the brick wall, crying his heart and soul out.

Steve’s phone pinged after about an hour and a half. Steve hadn’t left the roof. He just stared out at the ocean, wondering how far it was to the next continent—it was Asia, right? He had long since stopped crying, for which he was grateful.  
He fished for his phone and flipped it open. One text from Tony Stark. He bit his lip. Okay, really, he shouldn’t expect Tony to walk up here to talk to him himself. But a call would be nice.  
His thumb stuttered across the keys when he went to open it. The contents of the text did surprise him. Just a little.   
_Steve, could you please return? Miss Potts has left, and Master Stark is in a state where he is prone to self-harm._  
Steve was already walking back downstairs before his mind made the conscious decision to return to Tony’s room.  
Tony’s room was darker than before, the only light was the circle of stark white of Tony’s desk lamp, and seemed a little cold, but that could’ve been Steve. Or something weird and supernatural.  
Steve cleared his throat quietly. “Umm… hey.” He paused by the door, his eyes sweeping across the room. He felt a little bit of the tension seep from his shoulders when he saw that Pepper was indeed gone.  
Tony looked up from what he was doing, his head snapping up sharply. Tony’s face was rather blank, and he had one hand wrist deep in bandages, the other clutching the rail on his cot so tightly that his knuckles were white.  
“Tony, what…” Steve stumbled into the room, caught off guard by Tony’s apparent apathy. “What are you doing?” He made it to the bed and realised that Tony was trying to undo the bandages that were holding the electromagnets to his chest, which were keeping him alive. “Tony, stop it.” He whispered, unable to raise his voice any more. He coughed and repeated himself, louder this time. He reached out and grabbed Tony’s wrist, and forced the genius’ hand away from his chest, pinning the limb to the sheets easily. Tony didn’t even try to struggle.  
“What. The hell?” Steve asked, trying to keep his voice down. Tony just looked at him with wide, dull eyes. “You were going to kill yourself!” He really did feel like punching Tony now. Like, a lot.  
“I know.” Tony’s voice was raspy, and hoarse, like it was after he had gone dow— Steve bit his tongue. No. Serious emotional moments that nearly end with Tony crying do not equal sex.  
“Why would you do that? You have too much to live for!” Steve didn’t pause to let Tony reply. “People do care about you, Tony. Really, they do.”  
“But I fuck things up.” Emotion seemed to have returned to Tony. He seemed angry now. Well, it was better than dispassion. “Seriously, every person I ever get close to, I end up hurting. Dad; I let him down. Mum; I never saw her unless I had to. Rhodey; puts up with all my bullshit, bails me out of media shit. Pepper; I dump her with my company, and break her heart. And…” Tony stopped talking. He wasn’t going to say how he fucked up with Steve, because that list went on and on and on. “Point is I’m not good at life. I’m a shit person, I can’t drink myself to death so…”  
Steve cut in. “But that’s part of life.” Steve, pleased at least that Tony wasn’t mutely staring at him with that dead expression, had calmed down. His tone was gentle, similar to the one he used with the new foals the first time he had to trim their feet.  
“No, it’s not!” Tony glared at the far wall stubbornly. He didn’t deserve nice things. Not in this life time. He had proved that just less than two hours ago by letting Pepper kiss him, and then letting Steve just walk out like that, with that kicked-puppy look on his face that he had once tried to draw out, but now it just twisted a barbed knife into his gut. “People aren’t supposed to make other people upset! People aren’t supposed to deliberately hurt other people!”  
Steve’s hand tightened around Tony’s wrist. “Tony!” His voice was sharp again, and cracked through the air like a stockwhip. “Stop wallowing in self-pity!” Ughh what could he do to make Tony see that Steve did realise that it wasn’t Tony’s fault that Pepper kissed him?   
“I’m not—” Tony’s words were cut off rather sharply when Steve leant forwards and slanted his lips against Tony’s insistently. Tony let out a small moan, and his hand, no longer trapped underneath Steve’s, reached out, found Steve’s hand, and gripped it tightly whilst Steve cupped Tony’s jaw with his other hand.  
When Steve pulled back, he got up quietly and went to the window sill, completely disregarding Tony. He picked up his paper and charcoal and started sketching quickly, the strokes soft and light against the page.  
Tony just sat on the bed and tongued his lip. It was already swelling up where it had been pinched between Steve’s teeth and his own. Then it hit him.  
That had been his first kiss with Steve Rogers.

“Steve, can you do me a massive favour?” Tony asked one day. (According to Jarvis, it had been five days since he had woken up.)  
“Sure.” Steve shrugged and set his drawings aside so he could make his way to Tony.  
“Can you drive to my house, go to the workshop and pick up the box on the bench?” Tony didn’t look up from his phone, which he was tapping at frantically. He had finally found a suitable core for his ionised reactor—an arc reactor—in the metal palladium. Steve just had to pick up all the parts now. Dummy should’ve put everything he needed into a box.  
“Certainly.” Steve pressed a kiss to Tony’s forehead and left.  
He was back in half an hour with the box, or rather crate, which Tony had him pick up. He put it on the table and dragged said table over to the bedside at Tony’s request.  
Tony grumbled wordlessly when he tried to lean up to peck Steve on the lips as a thank you, but couldn’t. It only seemed a natural thing to do now, as it had been on the farm. Once Tony got past the whole Steven/Steve part, it seemed normal, right, expected, that they were the same person. Their habits had been synchronised down to the dot. Tony was quite staggered that he hadn’t noticed it before. Thus, it had been simple, logical to slip back into old habits.  
Steve chuckled and leant down to indulge Tony, and then returned to his drawing when Tony shooed him away.

For the next few days, Tony tinkered with wires, and metal rings and glass plates and some strange blue liquid that he was so careful with that Steve began to wonder if it was poisonous or corrosive. He refused to show Steve was he was doing; just a little project. It might not even work. He would say defensively, and Steve would text Bruce back at the farm and ask him if there were any times before that Tony refused to tell someone what he was doing.  
The answer was no.  
Steve never ran out of things about Tony to draw. Being there with him all the time gave him all the inspiration in the world. When he thought he was alone, Tony was very expressive, and would constantly mutter things to himself that Steve would never be able to understand in his lifetime. It wasn’t long before Steve had to excuse himself to buy a new book.

Tony finally got a chance to flip through Steve’s sketchbook one day when Steve left it on the nightstand whist he went out for a jog. Since he wasn’t at the farm, Steve had insisted that he run on a daily basis. Generally, Steve was gone for about half an hour. Reasonable enough time for Tony to have a flip through some drawings.  
Not, however, a reasonable enough time for Tony to come to terms with seeing himself portrayed repeatedly, from every angle possible in smudgy shades of grey(1). There were a lot of him smiling, mostly a tender, heart-warming smile a similar fire alight in his eyes. Tony hardly recognised the smile. He had never witnessed it in the mirror, and he suddenly wondered; is this how Steve sees me? That jumped to; How does everyone else see me? Do they see this smile? Or is it just Steve?  
He got past his temporary mindfuck of human perception with minimal consequences, and made it a little further into the book when the drawings altered in taste, somewhat subtly at first. Not so subtly later. There was a curving line, slightly bumpy and bandaged, with lumps and wires protruding—his back. Calloused hands wrapped around a see-through phone, touching the screen with utmost care, another that was clearly not from the hospital—his body, waist up, sweaty, a bruise here and there, mostly faded, one fresh, and the expression on his face. There were more, loose sketches of is entire body, naked. Wearing an overlarge shirt. With messy hair. That one time he had lost his contacts and had to wear glasses for the rest of the day. Stretching his neck out. It went on. There was this one that he really thought that Steve was being optimistic about his flexibility, but it didn’t matter really.  
He was broken out of his whatever he was doing, (looking at drawing of himself. Naked.), when someone knocked on the door. He fumbled with the book and dropped it back on the desk just as he called for the person to come in.   
Bless Steve’s ridiculous manners and his inability to enter a closed room without knocking.  
Steve was all sweaty and was carrying a plastic bag. “I thought you might want some lunch?” He asked, walking over to sit by Tony’s side. Tony shifted the mess of electronics in his lap, which he hadn’t moved in the time Steve had been gone, for which he was glad. It would’ve been difficult to explain why he wasn’t fiddling when that was all he had done since Steve had bought the box of stuff, and he didn’t care to tell Steve that he had been looking at Steve’s… drawings. He wondered if Steve had more, and if Steve ever jerked off to them.  
He liked that thought; the idea of Steve hiding up in the barn behind the stacks of hay, fingers smudged with charcoal as he beheld the drawing he had just finished. And Steve would be helpless to do anything but bring himself to completion.  
“Steve, you’re the best.” Tony smiled weakly, and a glance at the clock told him that he’d been awake for nearly two days. Wow. He should sleep tonight, but he was so close to finishing this reactor.  
Steve dug some sandwiches from the bag, and some fruit and a large bottle of fruit juice, and Tony pulled a face. “It’s nothing, really.”  
Tony shook his head. Yeah, salad sandwiches and fruit juice really was nothing. Nevertheless, either way; Steve was too modest. He didn’t have to bring Tony food. 

“Hey Steve?” Tony’s lap was clear of wires for a change, in fact, everything he had been working on was neatly packed in its crate again, the only thing not in there was a screwdriver set and a bundle of bandages that had a wire trailing out of it.  
“Yeah?” Steve glanced up from Tony’s phone. He and Jarvis really did get along, and Jarvis was showing Steve the merits of digital art.  
“The doctors, they found a few pieces of shrapnel that they can safely remove, and they want to remove them, so I’ll be going into surgery after lunch.” He had held off telling Steve because that was a total lie, but Steve didn’t need to know that.  
Well. Not a total lie. He was going to have some of the fragments removed, but there was one other thing that was potentially life threatening…  
Steve brightened. “That’s great!” He exclaimed, surging to his feet, Jarvis forgotten in his hand.  
Tony forced a mechanical smile. “Yeah. It is, isn’t it?”   
After that, Steve was too distracted to go back to learning all about digital art, and Tony was a little glad. He had done the math, and the chances of him actually surviving this operation wasn’t as high as he would like (only about 62%), so he was happy to fill the time with talking to Steve. He didn’t complain as he usually did when Steve took his hand and rubbed his thumb across the knuckles.  
They both missed lunch—Tony wasn’t allowed to eat, and Steve said he’d wait until dinner as he had a big breakfast, and they could eat cheap takeout for dinner when Tony woke up. Tony liked to think of it as celebration, because if he woke up, that would be pretty fucking amazing, and he would probably make Steve fuck him over the hospital cot as soon as he wasn’t attached to no less that a half dozen machines. That would probably put too much strain on his body which had only been incapacitated for far too long, first getting kidnapped, followed by torture and then God knows how long in a coma in a hospital bed. But, death by sex sounded nice.  
That bought about another thing. He should probably tell Steve and possibly the press why he was in hospital in the first place. Being kidnapped by a terrorist cell wasn’t common knowledge. One of Stark Industries’ ransom policies was that the media wouldn’t be told until the kidnapped person was back, hence, he had been on vacation for a month, and then neck deep in lab work, so he wasn’t seen for two months. Total bullshit, but it kept the business afloat and away from rival companies. But yeah, Steve deserved the truth.   
Steve had put up with all his crap for sixteen years at the farm, and then two years of nice-ish stuff where Tony didn’t realise it was Steve, and then Tony running away and not even saying goodbye properly. Then he came to see Tony in the hospital at a moment’s notice the second his return had leaked to the news. Tony owed him. Just a little, teensy little bit.  
Tony made Steve promise to stay in Tony’s room whilst he was in the theatre, he was leaving Jarvis with Steve (Jarvis had his own set of orders, but hopefully they would never have to be carried out). So Steve wouldn’t get bored. The whole while, he held the bundles of bandages on his lap tightly, his fingers running along the wires that protruded. Fortunately, Steve wasn’t too curious a person, or he was, and was too polite, and so didn’t ask what it was.  
When he had to go to his operation, a nurse knocked on the door and entered, her air all brisk and professional. “Mr Stark?”  
“Just a second.” Tony squeezed Steve’s hand. “One more thing.” He tugged a little with his hand, and Steve leant forwards.  
“Hmm?” Steve made a questioning noise, and Tony leant forwards as far as he could and kissed Steve gently. Totally different to any of the others they’d ever had. Tony wasn’t usually one to take things slow, but he savoured this, no teeth knocking together, not biting of tongues or lips, just a gentle press of the lips that left Tony slightly breathless, and Steve more than a little confused as Tony was wheeled from the room by the nurse.  
He was transferred to a waiting room for a little while, and could only nod as the anaesthetist explained the procedure that he knew the exact biochemistry of, then he was moved to the theatre, a largish room with a handful of machines that the names for skipped through his brain in a fleeting instant, but nothing stuck and the anaesthetist was telling him that this might hurt, and then his arm was tingling cold—anaesthetic flooding into his body and just as his vision went blurry and then black, he had a moment of panic before he was forced to succumb to the welcoming darkness that he hadn’t told Steve that he loved him before he might possibly die.

For most of the time that Tony was in the operating theatre, Steve sat in his chair, tapping the blunt end of his pencil against a fresh, crisp page, wanting to draw, the inspiration was there; a new side of Tony, soft, undemanding, but nothing would come out right. None of the lines he tried to draw just would match up because Tony was never soft and undemanding. It was against Tony’s nature to be soft and undemanding and Steve knew that.  
So he just tapped the pencil against the page and tried to nut out that kiss for a good three hours. After he drew zilch conclusions, he went back to talking to Jarvis about digital art until a nurse came in asking for him. She bore such a sombre expression that Steve panicked a little that maybe something went wrong and he was the only person who could make a life-or-death situation for Tony, but then his fears were put to rest by her words.  
“Mr Stark wants to see you.”  
Steve was following her very quickly. The nurse tried to talk to him a little, but he was too jittery to maintain a conversation.  
“Here you are.” The nurse stopped by a curtain and then left Steve to enter by himself. He parted the curtain enough for him to slip through, and then yanked them shut quickly. Tony was fiddling with something that was glowing, and he had substantially less bandages than when Steve last saw him.  
“Hey.” Breathed Steve, unable to think of anything asides from that and ‘how are you feeling’, which was next on his list, to say. He padded over to Tony’s bedside with a soft smile. “How are you—”   
“I’m fine.” Tony said quickly, “Just uh… don’t get mad but I have something important to tell you.”  
It felt like the bottom of Steve’s stomach had dropped open. This couldn’t be good. Was Tony going to tell him to get lost, go back to the farm; he as fine now, it didn’t matter? “Uhh, the surgery just then…”  
These words didn’t do anything to quell Steve’s sudden uneasiness.  
“Well…” Tony seemed hesitant. “I maybe could’ve died. I mean, there was a 62% success probability by my calculations.” He caught Steve’s shocked expression, which was quickly morphing into anger, and then hastily added; “But I’ve been high on morphine lately so I could’ve messed up and it was probably higher!”  
“You mean that you were willing to leap into surgery that could’ve killed you?”  
“Actually I requested it.”   
Something about the way Tony said this so emotionlessly, so matter-of-factly, halted Steve’s anger in its tracks. “What?”   
“I requested the surgery.”  
Steve’s anger returned full force. “Why the hell would you do that?” Steve only just managed to keep his voice below a shout. He just couldn’t believe that Tony would be so stupid! Steve didn’t really know what he would do if Tony had’ve died.  
“Umm…” Tony put the glowing blue thing down and slid his fingers under his bandages instead, prying them open at the middle of his sternum. “Well I needed a place to put my ionised arc reactor, and I figured that since the scars were already there…”  
Steve gaped at Tony for a moment before—“Can I touch it?” He asked, almost whispering.  
“Sure, just don’t go probing in my chest.”   
Steve reached out for the ring of shiny metal embedded in Tony’s chest. It was probably about ten centimeters across, if that, and plastic-coated wires were hanging out of it, attached to the machine that had been attached to the electromagnets when they were bandaged to Tony’s chest. He dipped his head a little, and could only see darkness on the inside of Tony’s chest, but he was certain that his heart, lungs, everything could be reached in there.  
The stainless steel was perfectly integrated in Tony’s body, and there was hardly a seam where the skin met metal. There was the part that the doctors had probably cut out a piece of Tony’s STERNUM in order to put the metal in his chest, but Steve would have that conversation with Tony later. When Steve could control his anger a little better.  
“There is a chance that my reactor won’t work properly, I’m just ironing out the last few logistical issues, but what I’ll do is attach it to the magnet that’s sitting next to my heart, and then get the doctors to turn the machines off. If it doesn’t work, they can turn them back on, and I make a new reactor, but the chance of that is less than—” The rest of his sentence was muffled by Steve’s, his lips greedily consuming the words. Tony shut up quickly, and kissed back, fingers going slack under the bandages as he let Steve take control of the kiss, prodding his mouth open, tongue delving into the velvet heat of Tony’s mouth for a moment too long for the kiss to be ‘clean’.  
“That was… nice.” Tony said when Steve pulled back.  
“You talk too much.” Steve told him sternly.  
“Get used to it, cap.” Tony smiled and picked up his arc reactor and pressed a wire down a little more firmly. “I think this should work, but before we go through any more life-threatening excitement, I want the strongest coffee that the coffee machine here will make, and I want my cheap take out. If you go now, I’ll be back in my room when you return.”  
Steve did exactly that.

When he got back to Tony’s room, carrying a plastic bag that contained their cheap takeout—something Asian and noodle-y—he found Tony standing by the window, leaning heavily on a walking stick, as opposed to being in bed like he was supposed to.  
Unusual.  
Tony turned around when he heard Steve close the door, looking somewhat haggard. Surgery did that.  
“I thought you’d be bed bound until tomorrow.” Steve stated, sitting at the small table in the room. He pulled out one of the boxes of noodles and then the other, commercial chopsticks following quickly.  
“I thought you’d know by now that I’m a compulsive liar.” Tony remarked, making his way to the table so he could eat too. He sat, and then reached up to unbutton the thick cotton pyjama top he had on, to reveal the bright blue glow of his arc reactor. “Surprise!” He said weakly, wiggling his fingers.  
Steve sighed, and looked away whilst Tony rebuttoned his shirt. “If you keep doing stuff like this I’m going to have to put you on a leash.”  
“I’d like that.” Tony said before he could stop himself. He shut his mouth, teeth clicking against each other in his haste. “So, dinner? And I’ll explain why I’m here in the first place.” He reached for the closer of the two takeaway boxes eagerly. Salad and hospital food was only tasty for so long.  
It took a great deal of Steve’s control to maintain his composure whilst Tony told him all about the terrorist cell in Afghanistan; the dark cave where they had demanded that he build explosives, the video sent back to Stark Industries, his eventual escape and then three day trek through the desert—dehydrated and knowing that he was going to die—then waking in the hospital. Steve wasn’t entirely sure if he was going to get mad, or hug Tony so tight that he crushed the smaller man, so instead, his fingers dug into the table, and his teeth into his tongue.  
The story didn’t seem to be one that was easily related, on Tony’s behalf. Slowly, his head dipped a little, casting shadows across his face. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say Tony was getting tired, but he did know better, so he knew that Tony was avoiding eye contact, that Tony wasn’t having this easy. Their dinner already long forgotten, Steve slid his chair around so he was next to Tony, and scooped the genius into his arms with the utmost care.   
Tony stopped talking after a while. He had spared Steve all the gory details, all the parts where they had nearly drowned him, the times they pressed red-hot pieces of metal against his skin, and beat him until he bled. Steve didn’t need to know all of that, probably didn’t want to know.  
“Doctors said I can go home tomorrow.” Tony finally murmured after a while of his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. He hadn’t been crying. No, not at all.   
Steve squeezed him a little tighter, his arms, firmly wrapped around Tony, making the genius feel safe. “That’s good.” Then Steve could go back to the farm if Tony didn’t want him around. That was actually rather likely. Tony had a company to run, and it wasn’t as if Tony had asked him to come all the way over here.  
Tony shifted in his arms, and Steve let him gently stand, placing Tony’s feet on the linoleum floor for him. Tony stretched, and then scratched his chest, pausing when his fingers brushed the arc reactor under his pyjamas. It was an unusual feeling, and it made the inside of his chest curl a little. Now that he had reminded himself of it, he could feel the warmth it gave off, he could feel the gentle whirr of plasma fluid swirling around in its glass and metal confines. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Something that he was aware of having in his body, but didn’t feel compelled to tell everyone about. Like a second heart.  
“Thanks…” Tony mumbled, fisting his hand in the hem of his shirt. “Thanks for listening to that.” He was probably going to have nightmares for weeks, already was having nightmares, but with the morphine the hospital staff were giving him were numbing his body to responses. He knew this, and dreaded going home for that reason. He didn’t want people to worry about a few bad dreams. It wasn’t worth it.   
He wasn’t worth it.

Jarvis had a pot of coffee on when Steve drove Tony back to Tony’s house. Tony might be allowed from the hospital, but he wasn’t cleared for driving. The moment Tony was in the kitchen, he pulled out the biggest mug Steve had even seen, filled it to the brim with coffee, and wandered back out, heading to some unknown destination.  
Steve went to follow, but Jarvis advised him to stay upstairs. “Master Stark’s workshop is a dangerous place, and he has some projects to start, I believe. He will come upstairs when he needs to.”

“When Tony needs to” came several days later.

“Maybe I should just go home. He seems to be alright.” Steve said. Jarvis had assigned Steve a room, and Steve was sitting at the desk in there, tapping binary out on the hardwood. He had been at Tony’s place for two days now. Tony hadn’t been upstairs since he came home, not to sleep, eat, use a bathroom, anything.  
“Your farm is perfectly fine, and I know Tony hasn’t been up here in a few days, but he does need you.”   
Steve kept his reply of ‘bullshit’ to himself, and instead shrugged and turned back to the desktop that he was fiddling with. Computers were a new thing to Steve, but Jarvis was very helpful, and he was doing some of this ‘digital art’ stuff. Figuring the pressure sensitivity of the drawing tablet out was not easy, he decided. “So the other side of the pen is an eraser?” He asked instead.

“Steve.”   
Steve blundered awake when Jarvis was suddenly very loudly talking to him.   
“Steve you should get up, if you could.”  
Steve sat up, paused to rub sleep from his eyes before sliding out of bed. “Yeah?” Early mornings were his thing, although… three in the morning wasn’t.  
“You need to go downstairs now. I suggest you put on slippers, or a pair of socks. The floor is very cold.”  
Steve found some socks, pulled them on hurriedly, and allowed Jarvis to direct him to wherever it was downstairs that he needed to go. He was taken down a flight of stairs that graduated from carpet to stainless steel to finally, concrete. Jarvis was right. The floor was very cold.   
At the bottom of the staircase, he was met with a large glass window, and a door that was sitting ajar. He carefully went inside, pushing the door open a little further to allow his broad shoulders pass through, and suddenly realised that he was standing in Tony’s workshop.  
What gave it away was the junk everywhere.  
Steve felt like he was prying into Tony’s personal life in here. There was too much to take in, however, in the time allowed, for there was something pressing against the small of his back. He turned to see a robot, an oversized arm, nearly his shoulder height, but bent down to push him along.  
“Steve, meet Dummy. Now move along.” Jarvis was brisker now, but his voice softer. Dummy and Jarvis nudged Steve, now completely lost in the metal forest that was Tony’s basement, along until he was standing in front of an old worn out couch.  
Tony was asleep on the couch, sort of. He was more than likely deep in some dreadful nightmare, judging by the way he was curled up, pained expression on his face. The hyperventilating and near screams were an added bonus.  
Steve automatically knelt by the side of the couch, and tentatively reached out to Tony, seeing as Jarvis hadn’t told him what to, or not, to do. The moment he touched Tony, the genius’ eyes snapped open, and Tony was lashing out sharply with a fist. Steve rolled back and landed on the concrete on his ass, already apologising.  
Tony sat up, blinked a few times and stood.  
“What are you doing?” He asked, seeming genuinely curious.  
“You were having a nightmare.” Steve said, standing. “Are you alright? Do you want to talk about it?”  
Tony turned away and made a gesture with his hand. The already bright room lit up a little more, floating images suddenly surrounding them. “No. I’m all right. Nightmares; various causes, including over consumption of caffeine before sleep and sleeping in uncomfortable positions. It’s nothing.”  
Steve chewed his lip, and watched Tony reach out and grab one of the floating images before pulling it to pieces in mid-air. Steve vaguely recognised it as an engine. Steve had had nightmares as a child, just after his mother was killed in a car crash that by some fluke, he survived. He was never okay after the lucid images, something moving too fast towards him, waking in a cold sweat and unable to go back to sleep for the rest of the night. Why would Tony be any different? Tony had been through something far more traumatising.  
“Alright then.” Steve allowed. “Just come upstairs and eat something when it’s light out. Promise?”  
“Sure.”  
Steve was sure that Tony was only half listening, unaware of what he had agreed to. “Jarvis?”  
“I will make sure of it.” Jarvis reassured. “Master Stark will be alright now, you should go back to bed, Steve.”  
Steve rolled his eyes and dodged a glowing, floating car on his way out.

Steve was unusually warm when he woke, and found that one of his arms had lost a fair bit of feeling, and that he couldn’t move it. He reached for the alarm clock with his other hand instead.  
“Off, Jarvis.” Tony’s voice mumbled. The alarm turned off immediately.  
Steve opened his eyes quickly and did a double take.   
Alright… Tony, in his bed, in his arms. He could get used to this. He shifted a little to get them both in a more comfortable position, and pulled the doona up a little more. The room got a little darker when the sheets shifted up and over Tony’s chest.  
Tony was nice and warm and quiet when asleep, his reactor a little spot of excess heat against Steve’s chest. Steve placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder, the back, where the bone jutted against his bare skin, and let his hand smooth down his spine, running along surprisingly soft skin until it rested in the small of Tony’s back, lumbar spine, Tony would say, and Steve pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together.  
He closed his eyes, and resolved to just go back to sleep. He was far too comfortable, and Tony’s skin was really soft and warm.  
Tony, on the other hand, had dragged himself back upstairs, stripped, and flopped into bed. He hadn’t even noticed that Steve was there. Naturally a cuddly person when he slept (generally why he left bed before his one-night-stand woke), he had ended up waking to Steve’s broad chest, strong hands around his waist, and a pleasant manly smell. Yeah. Farm smell for the win. There was also an obnoxious beeping, so he told Jarvis to turn it off.  
Steve shifted, moving them both, so Tony was fitted against the hard muscles and flat planes of Steve’s body a little better, and oh that felt nice. Steve’s hand ran down his side, somehow down the only unmarked piece of skin he had, to rest in his lumbar spine, drawing Tony’s hips closer too and oh dear… Steve’s tracksuits were providing a little too much friction, thank you very much. He hadn’t had enough sleep lately to do this, but what the heck.  
Steve was a thoughtful arranger, and had somehow found a way to have them both this close to each other, but leave Tony’s left arm free. It was nice. Very nice.  
He could get used to sleeping with Steve.  
Actually, check that, no he couldn’t. He already was.  
He trailed his hand up Steve’s almost hairless chest (How was that even possible? His head wasn’t thinking about alleles and biological possibilities because Steve was a biological impossibility, showing all recessive traits and it was too good to be true), pausing to rub his thumb over the blonde’s clavicle, before continuing up to his jaw, slightly rough with stubble, not as bad as Tony was though. Steve clearly took care of himself a bit better than Tony did. His next movement was slightly awkward. It was too dark to see, and he accidentally bumped his forehead against Steve’s nose when he leant up to kiss the sleeping man. He hoped Steve was sleeping. His clumsiness would be a little awkward to try to explain.  
He moaned, just a little, when Steve kissed back, nothing hurried, and it fell into a liquid slide of skin on skin, and Tony had been having far too many gentle kisses of late. It was quite nice.  
Steve was most definitely awake after that. His arms tightened around Tony’s waist, and his lips trailed along the genius’ skin, across his jaw to behind his ear, Steve’s breaths short and hot on Tony’s skin. Steve pulled back a little then, and looked down at Tony. His eyed had adjusted enough in the faint glow of the reactor that only just managed to bleed through the thick doona to see Tony’s face with decent clearness.  
“Good morning.” He murmured.  
Tony only whined a little. “Steee-eveeee!”  
“I’m certain my name has only one ‘e’ in it, not six.” Steve teased, kissing Tony’s retort away. “Come on, you need food.”  
“No I don’t.” Tony grumbled. To his misfortune, as he probably could’ve convinced Steve for a quickie, his stomach grumbled along with him and Steve’s mind was set.   
“Up you get.” Steve got himself out of bed, and Tony stretched out, positioning himself so he could watch the pull of Steve’s strong back as the farm boy pulled a shirt on. A shirt that was a size too small, but Tony wasn’t complaining. “Tony, up.”  
Tony stretched under the sheets again, and Steve flicked the lights on. Tony hissed in displeasure and closed his eyes, but did get up. Steve scowled.  
“Do you always sleep naked?”  
“Possibly.” Tony cracked an eye open to find something to wear. “Are you complaining?” He settled on a pair of tracksuits that were probably Steve’s. Yep. Too big. “Jarvis, dim the lights please.” The light levels dropped by about sixty percent, it was too early for maths, and Tony was able to open his eyes properly.  
Steve left him then, with a vague instruction of ‘come and eat’.  
Steve made his way to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of juice, and set about cooking some scrambled eggs. After his first day there, he had insisted on going out and buying food for the kitchen. He had been horrified to hear that Tony had been living off peanut butter sandwiches and pizza for the last few months, and so Jarvis had told Steve where to go and where in the house to find money. Steve felt a little bad, but Jarvis conveniently reminded Steve that Tony was kind of a billionaire, so fifty dollars for grocery money was nothing.  
Tony finally dragged himself to the kitchen, and walked over to Steve, before bumping his forehead against Steve’s upper arm. “Coffee?” He asked.  
“On the table.” Steve gestured with his elbow, and Tony pounced with all the intent of a caffeine deprived genius. 

Steve found fitting a routine to Malibu not that difficult. It got light fairly early, so he got a morning jog along the beach, and then would do whatever. He kept telling himself that he would find a job, or return to the farm soon, but Tony or Jarvis would always make an excuse; the bike’s not together yet, or Master Stark feels that he owes you, just stay a while longer.  
It was getting ridiculous, but he couldn’t say that he was bored or anything. He had easily acclimatised to using a computer to produce art, and then it was February now, and therefore Tony’s birthday was in a few weeks.   
His presence apparently was good for Tony’s routine schedule. Tony was eating three, or at least two, meals a day, and was showering more than twice a week and oh goodness he was sleeping. On a daily basis. Nearly. There were the times when he skipped a night or two, Steve never bugged him to sleep. He was just doing it. When Jarvis told Steve this, Steve seriously thought that Jarvis might short circuit from how excited he sounded.  
Steve had one problem with his morning run. Jarvis had conveniently placed him in Tony’s bedroom (as opposed to a guest room), and Tony was a clingy sleeper, so getting up at five in the morning wasn’t an easy task. Literally.  
At least he had a warm bed to return to.

When Steve got back from his run one morning, Tony wasn’t in his bed. Unusual, considering that getting Tony out of bed before nine in the morning was a feat in itself. He went to go to the workshop first, but Jarvis abruptly informed him that Tony was in his bathroom, so Steve doubled back. He was surprised he had missed the sound of running water.  
He knocked on the door to make sure that Tony was alright. He was never up this early unless he hadn’t slept the night before, and Tony had been in his bed when he left. Steve distinctly remembered having to detach the sleeping genius from around his waist. He wasn’t given an answer.  
“Tony?” He knocked again. “You in there?”  
Silence.  
He twisted the handle—unlocked—and let himself in.  
He expected the room to be steamy. Shower=hot water=steamy room. It wasn’t. He glanced around, and found Tony.  
Since he had been falling asleep to with someone by his side, and waking up the same way, Tony had been getting used to it, and so the first morning that he woke up whilst Steve was out on his run was not pleasant.  
He always had abandonment issues as a child, isolation from the general public and his parents, with only the maids to talk to, and many of them didn’t speak English.  
Adding waking from a nightmare into the mix, and people can start to understand why Steve returned to Tony (naked), curled up in the bathroom, under the running shower (cold), hyperventilating.  
Steve crossed the room in three long strides, and plunged into the shower, reaching out to turn it off whilst he knelt in front of Tony.  
“Tony? Hey, you alright?” He didn’t hesitate (last time he did, Tony nearly punched him, so might as well get it out of the road), and took Tony’s chin in his hand, forcing Tony to look up. Steve had never seen a more frightened pair of eyes. He couldn’t bear to look in them any longer, so pulled Tony into his arms, murmuring nonsensical words into the genius’ ear.

Surprisingly, Tony hadn’t made any moves to do anything sexual since well… since at the farm. Steve wasn’t quite sure why, and it was a little confusing, but really, he was too much of a prude to broach the subject.

Seeing as it was Tony’s birthday coming up, Steve wanted to do something special for that particular day. The last few times Steve had called the farm, Tony had crashed the call, leaning on Steve’s shoulders to card his hands through the blonde hair. So Steve would put the call on loudspeaker, and Tony authorised Jarvis to talk to Bruce, and then would tease Natasha about her milk maid dresses which she denied owning, and then threatened to actually break his arm, then Peggy would invariably tell Tony that her ‘free shot at Tony’s face with something’ offer was still standing.  
It was these calls, and the ease of which Tony fitted into the conversation, as if he belonged on the farm, that sparked the idea in the back of Steve’s head, so he waited until Tony was neck deep in fixing something, and called the farm.  
“Hey nan,” he began when Eloise picked up.

“Explain again why Jarvis wants me to pack a bag and go with you?”  
“I’m going to quote Jarvis here and tell you that I’m unauthorised to tell you.” Steve put his hands on his hips and rested his weight on his back leg. He grinned and Tony sighed.   
“Fine. Whatever.” Tony huffed and stomped out of the kitchen. Steve let his grin slide into a fond smile, and tapped his fingers on the granite bench top. Old patterns, but he could still feel them drumming out across his skin.  
“Right. There. I’m packed.” Tony dropped a backpack in the doorway a mere five minutes later. “Two changes of clothes, socks, etc. and a toothbrush.” He left his bag there and approached Steve. “Can you please stop that?” He reached out and placed his hand over Steve’s, stopping the tapping. He didn’t mind the tapping, it was what Steve was spelling out in binary that he didn’t like.  
“Sorry.” Steve held his fingers still. “So, how much do you trust me?”

“Okay, when I said I trusted you, I didn’t mean this much!” Tony’s grip around his waist would probably bruise, but hearing Tony terrified for once was nice.  
“I didn’t realise that you had fixed the bike so well!” Steve exclaimed. “I think it might go up to 80!” Tony just wailed in response as Steve turned left onto the I15.   
It took Tony a few miles until he felt safe enough to peek over Steve’s shoulder. He recalled the last time he had been riding on the back of this bike. He could see over Steve’s head then, now he strained to see over his shoulder.  
Steve managed to cut a day off travelling back to the farm, even with a passenger. Well, Tony really had fixed his bike. Oddly, Tony didn’t realise where they were going until nearly there. Like, a few roads away.  
“You could’ve said!” he shouted over the wind. “I’d have flown us here!”  
Steve waited until he had slowed to turn into the driveway to reply. “The trip’s half the fun.”  
“But the software in the harvester needs updating, and you really need a computer here so you can do a thing called video calls.”  
Steve pulled the bike to a halt inside the barn and slid off, his legs feeling a little shaky. He turned to place his hands on Tony’s knees. “Totally unnecessary.”   
Tony couldn’t resist but to lean up and peck Steve on the lips. “So is that, but you’re not complaining.” He chuckled, pulling back a little. Steve followed him down to keep their lips connected.  
There was a choked scream followed by a loud crash and a familiar voice. “Can’t say I didn’t expect it.” Steve pulled away abruptly and turned to see someone whip around the corner of the barn door, and another person—Natasha—standing in the middle of the doorway.  
“Hi.” Steve gave a sheepish wave. “I’m back?” He stepped away from Tony smartly, and Tony got off the bike too, before staggering sideways and into Steve.

Everyone seemed more or less pleased to see Tony back, and everyone was definitely more pleased to see Steve again. Probably because everyone hated getting up in the early morning to feed the cows.  
When asked why they had seen Tony on the TV in the hospital, he neatly deflected the question. “Nothing major, there was an accident, and stuff happened. Apparently I’m lucky to be alive. I don’t remember much to be honest.”  
They had a laugh about Tony knocking his head in the workshop, and after a bit of nagging, and a bit of Steve rubbing his hands along Tony’s shoulders, Tony agreed to show them the arc reactor. Everyone had a bit of a look, and then decided that it wasn’t anything special except Bruce. He had a look, ran his thumb over one of the copper coils and then sat back, staring at it.   
“So the copper’s for an electromagnet, right?”  
“Yeah.” Tony rubbed the scarred skin surrounding the reactor.   
“It’s a power source?” Bruce pulled a stubby pencil from a pocket and a little note book from another. Tony nodded; yes. “What’s the output?”  
“If my calculations are correct,” Tony paused and tapped his fingers against the table, counting, “then it’s about three gigajoules a second, well, what isn’t lost as heat and light.” He tapped the reactor gently, and then held his hand over it, covering the light.  
Bruce’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible, surely.”  
“Or…” He held his hand out for the pencil and paper, and started scribbling, and everyone else rolled their eyes as the two men got down to science.  
“So how have you been, dear?” Eloise asked Steve.  
“I’ve been great!” Steve beamed. “It’s so good being home.” He swept his nan into his arms for a gentle hug. “Just uhh… where’s Peggy?” He hadn’t seen her yet.  
“I’m not sure.” Eloise said, whilst insisting that Steve lean down so she could kiss his cheek.  
“I’ll go find her. She can’t be far. I need to catch up with her anyway, so you lot go on with dinner without us.” He stooped to press a kiss to the crown of Tony’s hair, but caught himself just in time. He ruffled Tony’s hair instead. “I’ll be back soon, right?”  
“Sure.” Tony said distractedly, still explaining the mechanics of his arc reactor animatedly to Bruce.  
Steve didn’t have to look far to find Peggy, she was locked up in her room. Seemed logical to check there first. “Peggy?” He knocked on the door softly, just enough so she would be able to hear the raps. There was no immediate reply. “Peggy?” his voice turned inquisitive and soft, when he was calling for her before. “Are you in there?”  
The door opened a crack and Peggy’s wide brown eyes peered out at him, slightly rimmed in red. She cleared her throat. “Hey.” Her voice was a little hoarse and wobbly, as if she were barely holding herself together at the seams.  
“Can I…” Steve gestured behind her, and Peggy stepped aside and let him in. “So how are you?” They were at an awkward impasse, standing in the middle of Peggy’s room.   
“I’ve been alright.” Peggy stepped around him and sat on her bed where there already was a depression in the blankets.  
“That’s good to hear.” Steve smiled, albeit a little forced. “So do I get a hug?” He held his arms out, and Peggy hesitated for a second, before flinging herself into Steve’s embrace. (Goddamnit I’m getting sappy) “That’s better.” Steve wrapped his arms around her and picked her up. “I did miss you.”  
Peggy sniffed, and then demanded to be put down. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I really do love you. I’m sorry.”  
Steve smiled kindly, the tension had drained from the room so quickly after Peggy had said that because she had laid herself open for him, totally bare, he held all the power. He could shatter her, or help her piece herself back together. He reached out and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t apologise for how you feel.” He murmured. “I love you too, because you’re an amazing young lady, and you have so much to give to the world, and I’m sorry I can’t love you in the way you want me to.” He kissed her on the cheek, and she couldn’t help but let her lips twitch up a little. “Besides, when I was in California, I met this guy at the hospital. He’s one of Tony’s friends, but I think you’d like him.”  
Peggy let out a bit of a laugh, mixed with a sigh. “Will I get to meet him, then?” She stepped away from Steve, and wiped her cheek quickly, with a firm hand.   
“Hopefully, yes.” Steve couldn’t stop smiling. At least Peggy was a smart girl. She would know that she shouldn’t get stuck on him. She was strong. She would move on, far better than he would ever be able to. “It’s Tony’s birthday in two weeks, so I want to do something special for him. He seems to get on with everyone so well here.”  
“Why don’t you ask him out properly first? Because I’m certain that it hasn’t happened yet.” She raised an eyebrow, smirking. Now that she had something to rib Steve about, she was going to be fine.  
Steve flinched, and looked away. “It feels like I’m walking on eggshells around him, to be honest.” He looked at the door. “The others will be waiting.” He offered Peggy his arm, and they walked back to the kitchen.

Steve was glad to be back on the farm, to feel himself push his limits a little each day. He dove straight back into the work. He had left just after harvesting season, and had missed planting the crops, so there was little to do there, but he still had to fix fences, feed livestock and there was several new yearlings that he had to break in.  
He also had the added burden of having to keep Tony away from the farm house in the days leading up to the billionaire’s birthday, he would rather be inside helping his nan bake the cake and ice it, but Peggy was there, and Steve trusted her, so he dragged Tony out into the predawn cold, and bought him back when dinner was on the table.  
Nothing happened between them. Steve felt like it was never the ‘right time’ to ask Tony out, and couldn’t find it in himself to make anything happen between them. Sure, there was the occasional kiss, and Tony got sleepy in the truck and would lean his head against Steve’s shoulder, but Steve didn’t try to press for anything because Tony was still getting better.

After his kidnapping and consequent stay in the hospital, Tony had lost a lot of his muscle and a lot of weight, but within two weeks at the farm, he was starting to put both of those things back on, although Tony could swear that Steve was trying to kill him. He didn’t really mind. He quite liked being around Steve, even if he didn’t admit it. If anyone were to ask him why Tony hadn’t asked Steve out yet, the answer would come back as; it already feels like we’re dating, so what’s the point in asking?  
He didn’t push for anything that Steve might be uncomfortable with, and although he was itching to push Steve up against the door of the truck, he didn’t. He was being given another chance with Steve after he really fucked things over and nearly died. He was going to take it slow and not push Steve away. It was different for him, quite difficult, but he could do it.  
Certainly, he was still able to say that he and Steve had something special, but now, instead of being a little flippant about it, he truly did cherish it, and was amazed that someone so perfect could stay by his side, even after all the shit Tony had put him through.  
And then there were the times when Steve would just pick him up when he was sleeping and move him places. Generally from the passenger’s seat in the truck to his own bed, and he did find it mildly disappointing that Steve didn’t stay. Hadn’t they been sleeping together back in Malibu? Well, the farm probably did change things, he guessed.  
He still had his nightmares, but after he woke and calmed down, he was able to manage himself. He wouldn’t feel compelled to drink half a litre of the strongest alcohol around, he didn’t feel like he had to sit under the freezing shower water until he couldn’t feel his burn-scars tingling as if fresh, he didn’t have to run to the nearest heat source to stave off the bubbly flashes of being drowned. He was safe, buried under woollen blankets and the smell of creosote and wet dog in the mornings. It was… nice.  
Although there was this one nightmare that he had just once, and had been unable to snap out of it. Why would he be able to snap out of his mind envisioning Steve dying in his arms? He could handle torture to himself, he had proven that. He hadn’t built the weapons that the Afghani terrorists had wanted, at the cost of a little bit of his sanity, but Steve was off limits. Steve was his Achilles heel.  
He had scrambled from his own room and into Steve’s bed before he could stop himself, but his terrified sobs, and the tremors of his body stopped once he felt Steve’s warm bulk beneath his fingers, and had wormed his way into Steve’s arms.

Everything seemed to be going just fine with them and… whatever it was they had. Natasha and Clint did seem to be giving the both of them more and more disapproving glares as the days leading up to Tony’s birthday wore on, and neither of them could figure out why they were being disapproved of.   
It wasn’t like they were doing anything.  
Tony had honesty forgotten about his birthday. Which was good for Steve.  
Something that Tony hadn’t forgotten, however was that under any circumstances he _didn’t_ ride horses. No matter what. He was adamant about that.  
Steve, however was adamant that Tony would ride one today, on the third of March.  
“It will be perfectly safe.”  
“I refuse to ride something that is dangerous at both ends and a little tricky in the middle.(2)” Tony crossed his arms stubbornly, and Steve laughed. He had already tacked up two horses, his own one, a large piebald Clydesdale named Eddie that he didn’t feel guilty about riding (he often felt that emotion when riding smaller horses, worried that he might be too big to ride them), and one of the retired Clydies who really didn’t have enough energy to be doing anything cheeky, so Tony would be perfectly safe on his back.   
“What if we both ride the same horse then? It’ll be like on the bike, but slower.” Steve decided that that would work. His Clydie was big enough to hold two people. After all, he pulled three tonne carts around on a daily basis.  
Tony pouted, and Steve wanted to kiss the pout away, but refrained.   
“If you sit on the front, I’ll hold you, all right?”  
Tony grumbled a little, but agreed.  
“See, this isn’t so bad.” Steve murmured once they were astride Eddie’s back. Eddie snorted and Tony yelped. “It’s alright, just a bug in his nose.” He wrapped his arms around Tony’s middle and took the reins up. He clucked his tongue and nudged Eddie into a walk.  
“Wait a second!” Tony cried. Steve relaxed, and Eddie halted.   
“What?”  
“Just in case I die, can I have a kiss?” Tony blurted. Steve gaped for a second, and Tony backtracked. “I mean, you don’t have to, it’s just a figure of speech from Cali. Honest.”  
“Tony.” Steve interrupted Tony’s tirade. “Tony just shut up.” Tony shut up. “I just thought you needed a little space to get better, that’s all.” And then he leant in and he was kissing Tony with tongues and nibbled lips and moans and Tony’s fingers tapping on the back of his hands, and it was so nice why had he been waiting for this? He let his free hand seek out the hem of Tony’s shirt and wormed inside, rubbing his fingers across Tony’s not-quite-muscled-but-it-was-getting-there stomach, and up to the arc reactor, feeling it thrum against his palm, how the metal and skin met flawlessly, how both were very warm and it felt so good to have Tony’s skin under his fingertips again.  
Tony moaned quietly when Steve’s fingers ran up scarred skin, lingered at the mess that used to be his chest, and settled over the arc reactor. It was safe, even up here on this terrifyingly high horse (it was surprising that he was afraid of the height of a horse, yet could pilot fighter jets), in Steve’s arms.  
“Okay.” Steve finally pulled back and nibbled on Tony’s ear. “We shouldn’t stand around. It’s bad for Eddie’s back.” Steve would like to say ‘fuck the surprise party’. He would like that very much, but it was ready and just waiting to Tony to show up. Therefore, he urged Eddie into a comfortable plodding walk, and on towards the old shearing shed that was in the dam paddock.  
Tony for his part sank backwards into Steve’s chest, allowing his head to lull back on Steve’s shoulder. If riding horses meant this with Steve, he could tolerate it. Maybe. He glanced up at the sky. It was fairly clear, scatterings of clouds against the icy blue backdrop, and he suddenly remembered all about clouds and told Steve all about them.  
“They’re pretty amazing, clouds are. Aren’t they? I mean, they’re _flying water_. No one appreciates this fact…”   
Steve just smiled into Tony’s neck. For all the ribbing he did about it, he really did love listening to Tony babble on like a fish out of water. He loved hearing Tony tell him about science and why it’s right, why it’s _amazing_ , and most of all he loved when Tony felt like he was doing something wrong and would blurt excuses and apologies and reasons for his behaviour as if he needed justifying when truly, he didn’t.   
Not to Steve.

“Have you been in here before?” Steve asked when they got to the shearing shed. It was still used… when shearing time came around. It just wasn’t now.   
“I don’t think so.”  
Steve slid off Eddie’s back, landing on the ground with a slight puff of dust. “It’s quite nice, really quiet, and there’s all the old piles of sheep’s wool that wouldn’t fit in the bags. It’s so nice to come out here and just lay in them.”  
“So this is where you used to hide out?” Tony asked, smirking.  
“Maybe.” Steve flushed. Yes. “Come on then. Go have a look.” Steve took Tony’s hand, and pushed him a little forwards so Tony was the one pulling Steve along. “The door should just swing open.” He instructed, stepping as close to Tony as he could.  
The door easily swung open, and Tony leapt back and almost into Steve’s arms when he saw, or rather heard the contents of the shed.  
“Surprise!”   
Everyone on the farm was inside, plus a few extras. Three, to be exact. Well, two, if someone were to get picky. A computer doesn’t really count as a person no matter how advanced its AI was.  
“Isn’t that a little clichéd?” Tony asked once he wasn’t standing on Steve’s feet.   
“Would you rather we shout ‘Don’t be surprised, it’s obvious as hell that we were here the whole time’?” Natasha asked.  
Tony rolled his eyes and tugged Steve inside, but stopped short and Steve bumped into him, and so had to close his arms around Tony so they didn’t fall to the wooden floorboards. “What’s the surprise for anyway?”  
Steve laughed openly, and a few other people chuckled, but one lady stepped forwards. “I guess without me to remind you, I guess your birthday had slipped your mind.” She paused, and then handed a wrapped box to him.  
Tony stared at Pepper. “Hey, no you’re running my company for me. That’s enough.” She still pressed the box into his hands.   
“I know.” She said, looking all professional and out of place in the dusty shed in her neat clothes. “That’s why you’re not opening it until tomorrow.”  
“Aww crap. Now I want to open it.” Tony groaned theatrically and leant back on Steve. “So it’s my birthday then?” It was almost as if he couldn’t believe it.  
“It is indeed.” Steve said. “Now go over there and talk to people.” He released Tony and gave him a small push towards the waiting crowd.

“Hey Peggy,” Steve found Peggy talking to Natasha. “I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”  
Peggy rolled her eyes and excused herself from Natasha’s presence. “This had better be good.”  
Steve only smiled and led her across the shed.  
“James,” Steve said, flashing the marine a bright grin. “I’d like you to meet my dear friend Peggy.” He pulled Peggy into Rhodey’s view, and she gave an awkward little wave.  
“Hi there.” She shrank into Steve’s shadow a little. When Steve had said that there was someone to meet, she hadn’t expected someone so severe looking.   
“Now, guns, talk.” And Steve left them. Peggy gave a nervous chuckle, and apologised.  
Steve knew that Rhodey wasn’t as awkward as he put on, so Peggy would be fine once conversation got started.  
“You know the talk that Peggy gave Tony that one time?” Natasha asked once Steve had returned to her.  
“Yeah?”  
“You should give it to that guy, did I read ‘James’ correctly?”  
“James Rhodes. Tony calls him ‘Rhodey’. He’s nothing like Tony. He wouldn’t do such a thing.” Steve was certain. “And look, they’re getting on just fine.” Steve let out the breath that he had been holding. He felt terrible for hurting Peggy and just wanted her to have someone to move on to. “I might go outside. I didn’t untack Eddie. He’s kind of standing there.”  
Steve slipped through one of the small doors in the wall where sheep were let out after being shorn and wove his way through the yards before vaulting the fence that separated him and Eddie. “Hey buddy,” Steve reached out and let Eddie rub his head on Steve’s hand, “sorry I left you out here for so long.”   
He kept murmuring senseless words to Eddie, whatever crossed his mind. He liked being around horses because they didn’t mind what he said, he could lay his heart bare to a horse and not be worried about anyone hearing. When Eddie was naked, he ushered the big horse into the short stockyards that wouldn’t hold Eddie in if he really wanted to get out, but there was hay and a water trough that Steve vaulted the fence to fill, so Eddie wasn’t going anywhere.  
“Hey.”   
Steve spun and nearly lost his balance when he heard Tony’s voice. “Um… hi.” He felt his heart flutter nervously. How much of his ramblings towards Eddie had Tony heard?   
Tony was standing at the fence, just watching Steve, an unusual expression on his face. “I was wondering where you had gone.”  
“Are you alright?” Steve didn’t recognise the emotion that Tony was sporting. He vaulted back over the fence and turned to face Tony.  
“I…” Tony stopped and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I just…”  
He seemed close to tears now, and Steve, although confused, took Tony into his arms.   
“No one’s ever really done something like this for me.” Tony buried his face in Steve’s chest. “I’m not supposed to be crying, it’s stupid!”  
“It’s perfectly fine to feel emotional.” Steve reassured. “I did say that people care about you, and there’s the proof.” He turned Tony around and pointed to the shed. This probably wasn’t the best thing to say to Tony, who turned back around and began crying in earnest.  
“I’m sorry I’m sorry…” Tony blubbered. “I don’t mean to cry like this.”  
“It’s nothing.” Steve patted Tony’s hair, placed his hand on Tony’s hip, and held him there until Tony calmed down. “Now, let’s go back inside. I think Nan made a cake.” They wandered back inside, and Steve left his hand around Tony’s waist. Steve found his Nan and released Tony to give her a hug and thank her for her help. “I just had to untack Eddie.” He added.  
“So it’s cake time?” Clint appeared with Natasha at his side.   
“I guess it is.”  
“No candles. I’ll cut it, just I’m not blowing out candles.” Tony insisted this point, not that anyone was really telling him otherwise. “And no singing happy birthday.”  
“Fine, fine.” Steve picked up the knife and handed it to Tony. “Cut.”  
Natasha smiled and leant on Tony’s shoulder as he pushed the blade through the cake. It clinked against the plate when he had cut through. “Oh, shame.” She skipped away. “You have to kiss the closest person.(3)”   
Tony looked around. “What?”  
“It’s a farm thing.” Steve shrugged it off. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He glanced around, Pepper was standing with Natasha, Rhodey and Peggy were still chatting quietly, but half watching what was going on.  
Tony looked around too, at the group of people, the group of people that he could probably call friends, with the exception of Peggy maybe, but really; she threatened his life on a daily basis. However, the rest of them really were his friends. He bit back the impulse to cry again. He never thought that he would have this in his life.  
“Well?” Natasha asked. “Closest person. Go.” She waved her hand at Tony and he looked up at Steve who was, undoubtedly the closest person. In fact, their fingers were still linked. Oops.  
Oh, it wasn’t as if Tony cared really, Pepper had caught him in all sorts of compromising situations, Rhodey too, and there wasn’t a person on the farm he hadn’t flirted with. But Steve had always tried to avoid public displays of affection. Steve just smiled down at him and curled his hand around the back of Tony’s neck, and bent at the waist to kiss Tony.   
It was only brief, Tony was a little surprised to reciprocate the kiss, and Steve grinned against Tony’s lips, please that he had caught the genius off guard. He pulled back a little.  
“Happy birthday.” He breathed.  
Tony let the knife go, half thinking it was still lodged in the cake, but it fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. He flinched away and everyone laughed, Clint lightly punched Tony on the arm, and made a joke about gays and Tony cheerfully threatened him with the knife.  
“Alright.” Eloise picked the knife up and washed it under the tap that was against the wall. “Stevie dear, pass the plates.”

Steve took Tony back on Eddie when the genius got tired (which didn’t really take a great deal of time). It was dark, and that was excuse enough for Tony.  
“Thanks.” yawned Tony. He was still sitting in front of Steve, Steve’s chin resting on the top of his head.  
“It’s nothing.” Steve took Tony’s hands and placed the reins in them. Eddie wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.   
“What?” Tony clutched the reins and Eddie’s thick mane.  
“It’s alright.” Steve assured. “Just want to touch you.”  
“How are you still a virgin?” Tony asked.  
“But didn’t we-”  
“Doesn’t count.” Tony interrupted.   
“Why not?” Steve left one hand on Tony’s thigh, absently tapping his fingers, and ran the other under Tony’s shirt as he had done before.  
“Didn’t know you knew binary.” Tony murmured, totally ignoring Steve’s question.   
“Hm?” Steve shifted and pressed his lips to the back of Tony’s neck.  
“You’re tapping… never mind.” Tony sighed. Probably had something to do with innate memory in humans. Touch and smell were the two most powerful senses. Tony had probably tapped the sequence out on Steve’s skin one time, probably more than one time, and Steve had remembered. Steve’s finger stopped their tapping and smoothed over Tony’s leg.  
“Sorry.”   
“It’s alright. It’s nice.”  
“No, not that.” Steve chuckled and resumed tapping, starting the sequence again. “Sorry I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”  
Tony blinked. “You don’t need to get me anything.”  
“I was going to draw you something.” Steve mumbled into Tony’s skin.  
Tony grinned lazily, too tired to smile properly. “What about your sketchbooks?” He could do a little teasing. “I think you might find something in there.”  
“No.” Steve’s response was so sudden that Tony had to bite his lip to keep in the giggle. Tony pulled on the reins and Eddie stopped.  
Tony twisted, and somehow, with Steve’s arms around him, managed to end up sitting so he was facing Steve. He held onto Steve’s upper arm with one hand. “Why not?” He pressed. Steve looked positively embarrassed, although he didn’t really have enough light to see. He unbuttoned his shirt and blue light flooded the enclosed space between them. Yeah, Steve was blushing.  
“Reasons.” said Steve vaguely.  
“Is it because you’ve drawn me in there?” Steve looked away and although Tony didn’t need to be told ‘yes’ or ‘no’, it was still fun to pretend to wheedle this out of the blonde. He pulled himself up and kissed Steve, keep his mind clouded. “I’m just teasing you.” He whispered.  
“Yeah well,” Steve took Tony by the shoulders and pushed him away a little. “I’m still sorry I didn’t get you anything, so I thought…” He swallowed, suddenly feeling doubt. (Go figure.)  
“You thought…?” Tony prompted when Steve started fiddling, fingers tapping faster against Tony’s skin.  
“I was just wondering if you might uhh…” he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “If you might want to go out with me.” His voice got progressively quieter as he spoke.   
Tony’s face broke into a broad smile, and he lurched forwards, arms around Steve’s shoulders, lips by Steve’s ear. “Yes.” He said. “Yes I will.”  
Steve squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Tony’s shoulder.  
“Okay, can you let go now?” Steve asked when Eddie pawed at the ground, irritated by the movement on his back. Tony slowly let his arms relax and sat back on the front of Eddie’s saddle. He managed to turn himself back around, and leant back against Steve’s chest, and Steve’s arms closed around him. Eddie started walking.  
“Hmm.” Tony reached into his pocket and found the box that Pepper had given him.   
“She said not until tomorrow.” Steve reminded.  
“When have I listened to what people have told me to do?” Tony slid his thumb under the tape holding the box shut. “There, didn’t even have to get my keys out.” He lifted the edge of the box and peeked inside, but found himself unable to see the contents in the dark, and so opened the box right up and held it in the bright blue glow of his chest. He made a somewhat choked sound and had the box snapped shut before Steve had looked down to see what Tony was gasping about. “She’s too clever.” Tony grumbled, pushing the box into his pocket again. “So, do I get birthday sex?”  
Steve blinked a few times, and then tightened his arms around Tony a little more. “Maybe.”  
Tony chuckled. That was as good as a yes, coming from Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Lolol accidental pop culture reference  
> (2) Sorry, It’s what RDJ says in Sherlock Holmes 2; A game of Shadows. It’s probably wrong, but I can still see Tony doing this.  
> (3) I’m not 100% sure, but I think this is an Australian thing. Do tell me if it isn’t.
> 
> And I'm too lazy to do all the italics. Sorry.


End file.
